


Gravity Falls Relativity Falls SEASON THREE

by redwoodroots



Series: Gravity Falls Relativity Falls [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Into the Bunker, Relativity Falls, ScaryOke, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:37:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 127,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14375007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: WE ARE FINALLY AT SEASON 3 REJOICE MY PEOPLE





	1. Scaryoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE FINALLY AT SEASON 3 REJOICE MY PEOPLE

The night was quiet. The squirrels slept, the weathervane squeaked, the moon shone down on an oddly beautiful pop star singer as she rooted through the Shack's trash cans. A rumble shook the ground and the singer scampered off. 

Mabel wasn't too worried about the rumbling, or the bright bursts of light that accompanied it. Even if the light shone straight up the rickety old Shack clear to the attic, Stan and Ford were both sound asleep. Literally nothing could wake those two before 7 AM except the smell of pancakes. She'd made sure Ria had actually gone home, then she'd gotten to work on the Portal. After three hours of work and six mugs of Mabel juice, things were finally coming together. The eye of the portal swirled with energy, like a bright light shining under rippling water. 

She stood in front of it and grinned. “Thirty long years and it's all led up to this. My greatest achievement!” She glanced down at herself. Her nightgown had so many stains it looked like a work of art. Her smile widened. “ _Perfect._ ” 

A flash of light made her look up. Lightning shot out from the portal and snapped over her head. She raised an arm to shield herself – then realized her arm was on fire. She quickly patted out. 

“Feisty,” she said with a chuckle. “I like it.” 

She went back to the control room. She still had the three journals set up to show the diagram of the portal. Now that it was up and running, only two things remained: number one: keep it running long enough for her to do number two. (Haha, bathroom pun.) And number two: find him, and bring him home. 

She flicked a series of toggle switches on the control board next to her desk. Above the window facing the Portal Room, a screen lit up with a series of five boxes, two on either side of the central square. The boxes on the side read Sector, Statistics, Results, and Next. She set the box in the middle to “Auto Scan”. 

Immediately, the scanner went to work. The central screen filled with a series of letters, numbers, and quotation marks that only the most twisted mind in the universe could have created. But her brother's machine knew it stuff. The other boxes reflected the progress of its search, scanning sector after sector.

She couldn't stop smiling. “If I finally pull this off, it'll all have been worth it.”

The Portal answered her with more beams of neon green light. To her left, the scanner spat out a perforated list of every sector it had scanned, marked in binary code with an “x” next to each one. The search, so far, was 0.0000000001% complete, but it _would_ finish, and she would be here when it did. 

She sat down heavily. “I just need to keep playin' it cool,” she muttered to herself. “If anyone ever finds out about this...” 

The photograph of her grephews on her desk caught her eye. She looked at it for a minute. Ford was so smart, and Stan was so intuitive sometimes...

“Pfft. No way. They've lived here for a month and still don't suspect a thing. Who could possibly catch me now?” 

She shook herself out of the funk and pulled on the fancy science gloves. They were basically like dish-washing gloves, only better because the word “science” came before the name. She grabbed a lever on the wall and pulled it. 

Lightning blazed through the room like she'd just exploded a very massive flash bomb. She cried out and covered her eyes with her arm. 

“Well _that_ was...uh,” she said, waiting for the Smile Dip fireworks to stop dancing in front of her eyes. “Hmm...wonder if that alerted any government agents to suspicious activity.” 

She paused. 

“NAH!”

 

It did. 

“See, there!” said the agent, pointing to the screen. The energy level spiked. “There it is again.” 

The agent sitting next to him eyed the screen seriously. “We haven't seen readings like this in thirty years.” 

The first agent, clearly the younger of the two, spoke up again. “Is it coming from deep space? An enemy weapons site?” 

The older man tapped a few keys and the screen changed to show a three-dimensional image of the earth. He zoomed in with his fingers to the red dot pinned on the globe. 

“Just as I suspected,” he said. “Gentlemen, we're going to Gravity Falls.” 

 

Stan smelled pancakes. 

His eyes flew open. He sat up so fast he knocked Gompers off his chest. The gloat bleated at him from the floor. 

“Sorry, buddy! You can sleep in my helmet next time,” Stan told him. “Hey Ford, what's – oh, wow.”

Ford's whole side of the room looked like he'd gone through it with five angry terriers and a leaf blower. Stuff everywhere, shreds of paper like confetti, bed unmade, no Ford in sight. 

“Um...again, wow.” 

He hopped out of bed. Maybe the nerd had had a science idea or something and headed for the lab early that morning. For the dude to be awake that early, it must be one crazy idea. 

He shrugged to himself and headed downstairs. Gompers stayed behind on the floor, snoring. “Hey Grauntie Mabel,” he said, entering the kitchen. “We got any powdered sugar, maple syrup, chocolate mix, tiny marshmallows – ?”

“Ain't done cookin' yet, egghead!” she laughed. “Wait for the pancakes to go with them toppings. And go getcher brother, huh?” 

“But I'm dyyyiiiiinnng...” 

“And I will have a wonderful time video taping your death and posting it on iTube. Now go get Ford or no pancakes for you!” 

Stan grumbled, but mostly just for show. He wandered through the living room and then through the Gift Shop and out of the house. 

“YO FORD! I'MA FEED YOUR BOOKS A PAGE AT A TIME TO GOMPERS!” he bellowed, and then stood there listening. Nada. 

Hmm...

He went around the side of the Shack and straight for the science lab. Sure enough, there was Ford – but it looked like he was trying to get into the lab and not having any luck. His hair was sticking up at weird angles and it sounded like he was muttering and giggling to himself. 

“Uh, Ford? Did it get jammed or something?” 

Ford whipped around so suddenly that Stan leaned back, startled, one armed raised. There was something really weird about Ford – 

And then it was gone and Ford was blinking around, bleary-eyed. 

“Stan...?” 

“The heck was that?” Stan asked, lowering his arm. “You sleepwalk or something?” 

“Sleepwalk?” Ford yawned. “Izzit morning already?” 

“Yeah, and Mabel's threatening to starve me if we don't get in there pronto. Let's amscray, huh?” 

He took Ford's hand for good measure – didn't want the dork falling asleep and collapsing or something – and led him back to the Shack. His stomach growled. He was so hungry he considered adding the last of Mabel's “Celebration Pizza with Cooked Banana” to his list of pancake toppings. 

 

The Shack was packed for the Grand Reopening. Everybody crammed into the Gift Shop, where Mabel stood on the cashier's counter beneath an enormous banner covered in bright pink and purple glitter. Stan and Ford stood next to her, grinning at the crowd. 

Mabel threw her arms wide. “Welcome, one and all, to the Grand Reopening of the Mystery Shack!” 

People cheered and whistled. Stanley took a bow. Ford laughed when Stan grabbed his head and made him do the same. 

Mabel held up a stuffed Bud Gleeful doll. “We're here to celebrate the defeat of that skunk, Bud Gleeful.”

“Boooo!” 

“Please, please,” she said. “Boo HARDER!” 

“ _BOOOO!_ ” 

Mabel tossed the doll into the nearest complaints department. “But I didn't catch that pork chop all alone!” She grabbed her grephews and swung them onto her shoulders. Ford nearly banged his head on a rafter. “These two scamps deserve _some_ of the glory...” 

Stan whacked her fez. 

“Oof! Okay, okay, _most_ of the glory!” 

“Smile for the camera!” Thompson said, holding something up. 

“Your camera's a cinderblock, Thompson,” Mabel and Stan told him. 

He sighed. “I just wanna be a part of things...” 

Aaron Anker stepped to the front of the crowd. “Smile for a _real_ camera,” he said haughtily. 

“Everyone say something stupid!” Stanley said. 

“ _Something stupid!_ ” they repeated, all three of them striking ridiculous poses. Ford laughed. He'd pretended to choke himself – he could only imagine the crazy face Stan had pulled. 

Mabel held up a freshly printed flyer. “And don't forget to come to the after party tonight at 8! We're doing a karaoke bonanza, people! Lights! Music! Enchantment!” She blew a puff of glitter off her hand. 

Stanley climbed down her arm and hung from her bicep like a monkey. “Yeah! Plus we're all gonna sing real loud at the top of our lungs!” 

Ford did a double-take. “Wait, what?”

“I SAID WE'RE ALL GONNA –”

Mabel clapped a hand over his mouth. “Not now, man! Save it for the party!” 

Ford jumped to the counter, holding up his hands. “Uh, hold up, I never agreed to –”

“TOO LATE!” Stan shouted. “I put your name on the list, it's happening!” 

Seandra sounded an air horn from the front door. “Buy a ticket, people!” she called, ushering the crowd out to the ticket booth. “You know you don't have anything else going on in your lives! I'm talkin' to you, pizza guy, don't lame out on me!” 

Stan, Mabel, and Ford hopped off the counter. Mabel leaned back against it with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Ahh, this is perfect! The town loves us, we finally got that Gleeful smell out of the carpet – everything is finally going our way!” 

“Hey, um, Grauntie Mabel?” Ford asked. “Now that we have a moment, I've been meaning to ask you for my journal back.” 

She looked puzzled. “Journal...?” She patted her suit. Then suddenly a light seemed to click. “ _Oh!_ You mean this old thing!” She lifted up the counter and pulled out the journal. Apparently she'd been using it to keep the counter from wobbling. She passed it over. “It was so boring I couldn't even finish it! Ha! Hahaha!” 

“Wait...you're just gonna give it to me? Just like that?” 

“What else do you want?” 

“I...” Ford's hands started shaking with excitement. “I gotta go!” He grabbed Stan and raced out of the Gift Shop, heading straight for the attic. 

Once they got there, Ford slammed the door, pulled the blinds, and picked up Gompers and turned him to face the wall. (The goat didn't even notice and just stared blankly at the wood.) He clicked on the camping lantern on their nightstand. Stanley sat on his bed, kicking his legs. 

“Stan, we gotta talk. Something big has happened – huge – and I need your help.” He picked up the journal and started pacing. “Almost losing my journal made me realize that we're almost halfway through the summer and still no closer to solving most of the big mysteries of Gravity Falls!” 

He turned to his “Big Mysteries” board. He'd nailed it up next to the painting of the boat. It was a big cork board covered with photos, notes, and newspaper clippings of everything even remotely related to the mysteries mentioned in the journal. Bud Gleeful, the author of the journal, the Shack, even Bill Cipher – _hmm, probably could take that last one down._ Ford turned back and held up the book. 

“Bud almost destroyed the town to get his hands on this book. But why? Where are all the other journals? Bill Cipher said everything was going to change –”

“Ugh, not that guy,” Stan cut in. “He ever shows his face around here again, I'll punch him right in the eyeball. _POW!_ ” 

“Yeeeah, hold that thought. Listen, there's something _huge_ going on right under our noses. It's time we stop goofing around, and get to the bottom of it.” 

Stan jumped off the bed. “Bro, you've looked through that thing a hundred times. Half the pages are _blank_ , remember?” 

Ford realized he was idly flipping through the book. He closed it carefully. “Yeah, but I think I might've found a big piece of the puzzle. Last night –”

“Hold up.” Stan cocked his head. “Is it just me, or do you hear the sound of government-grade law enforcement?” 

They looked out the window. A big black car was pulling up to the Shack, and two men in black suits stepped out. It was hard to see from a distance, but it looked like they both had ear pieces, and the way they carried themselves suggested they were men of authority. Did someone finally find out about Mabel's arrest warrants? Had someone come for her? They'd just gotten the Shack back! 

They didn't need to share a Look. They shot out of the room and back to the Gift Shop.

 

“ _The Mystery Shack is now closed! Everybody out! I have glitter and I am not afraid to use it!_ ” 

The loudspeaker squeaked with feedback. Ford and Stan ran into the room just as the crowd was shuffling out. Ria and Seandra looked surprised and vaguely worried, which meant that they didn't know what was going on, either. 

“Grauntie Mabel, what's happening?” Stan asked. 

“Yeah, you never shut down the Gift Shop!” 

But Grauntie Mabel just bit her nails and started pacing on the yellow rug in the middle of the room. Ford glanced at his brother, a little worried. What kind of plan could they come up with if Mabel needed an escape route? 

_Ding-dong._

Mabel practically rushed to the door, but when she opened it, she was her usual super-pumped con-woman self. 

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, gentlemen!” She swung out her arms grandly, which incidentally blocked the doorway. “What can I get you? Keychains? Snow globes? These rare photos of American _presidents?_ ” She pulled a five-dollar bill partway out of her sleeve. 

Stan nudged Ford. “She totally got that line from me!” 

Ford stepped to one side so he could see around Mabel. The two men were about the same height, but on was older and balding on top, with thick black eyebrows and a black mustache. He had a huge round schnozz and the eyes of a man who was never surprised at anything anymore. The other guy was much younger, with light brown hair almost in a buzz cut, a delicately arched nose and the stare of a wired chihuahua. 

They pulled out their badges in unison and showed them to Mabel. 

“My name is Agent Powers, this is Agent Trigger,” said the older man. “We're here to investigate reports of mysterious activity in this town.” 

“ _Activity,_ ” repeated Trigger. 

“Mysterious activity?” Mabel laughed. “In the Mystery Shack? You gotta be joking!” 

“I assure you I am not. I was born with a rare disorder that makes me physically incapable of experiencing humor.” 

“Ha! Hahaha!” 

“I don't understand that sound you're making with your mouth. Now if you'll excuse us, we're conducting an investigation.” 

“ _Investigation!_ ” 

The two agents pushed their way inside. 

Ford rushed up to them. “Wait, wait, did you guys say you're investigating the mysteries of this town?!” He couldn't believe it. Bill was right – the second he'd made a deal, big things were already starting to happen! 

Agent Powers glanced over his shoulder. “That information is classified...but yes.” He knelt down to Ford's eye level. “Look, between you and me, I believe there's a conspiracy of paranormal origin all connected to this town. We're just one small lead away from blowing the lid off this entire mystery.” 

“Are you kidding me?!” Was that not exactly what Ford had just been telling Stan?! “I've been investigating the exact same thing! I-I-I found this journal in the woods which has almost _all_ the answers. If we work together, we could crack the case!” 

The agents glanced at each other. 

“If you have evidence of these claims, we should talk.” Agent Powers reached into his jacket and handed him a card. Agent Power's contact details was under their logo, a bald eagle holding a magnifying glass. 

Ford looked up, grinning. “We can talk right now! Please, please, come in! I have so much to show you –”

“ _Whoa!_ ” Mabel stepped between them and pushed Ford behind her. 

“Hey!” 

“I'm sorry, agents,” she said sheepishly. “Kid has an overactive imagination. And like, a sweating problem.”

“Haha, zing!” Stan put in. Ford glared at him. 

Mabel waved her hand. “Paranormal town stuff is just part of Gift Shop lore. Sells more tickets, y'know!” 

She snapped her fingers. Ria grabbed a bunch of merchandise and decked out the agents with it. When she stepped away, they were wearing two oversize Question Mark T-Shirts with Mystery Shack bumper stickers plastered on their chests and googly pink antennae headbands on their heads. 

Ria nodded. “Swag.” 

Seandra took a picture with her phone. 

Agent Powers did not look impressed. “We have other spots to investigate. We'll be on our way.” He turned on his heel and headed briskly for the door. 

Agent Trigger grabbed an armful of bobbleheads. “I'm confiscating this for evidence,” he said. 

Powers nodded. “Smart move.” 

Ford couldn't believe this. “Wait, no wait!” He started running after them. “We have so much to talk about –”

Mabel grabbed his shoulder, bringing him to a stop as the agents' car sped away. She spun him around. 

“ _Hold_ it, kiddo,” Mabel said, scowling. “Trust me, the last thing you want around during a party is a cop. I'm confiscating that card.” She grabbed Powers' card from his hand.

“You can't –”

“Forget it.” She dropped it into her Contraband box. “Now how's about you go be a normal kid? Flirt with a girl or build a working death ray.” 

“Grauntie Mabel, you don't understand!” 

“And _don't go talkin' to those agents._ ” She headed out of the room. 

Ford stared after her. Frustration and injustice churned in his brain. He pulled out the journal and stared at it angrily. “Ugh, that could've been my big break...” 

Stan took the journal and waved it. “Bro, maybe Grauntie Mabel's right. We're having a party tonight! Can't you go one night without searching for aliens or raising the dead or whatever?” The journal flopped open to the zombie page. 

Ford rolled his eyes and took it back. “I'm not gonna 'raise the dead'. I just need a chance to show those agents my book.” _Maybe not the Bill part yet, though. Stan is one thing, but I don't want those agents thinking I'm crazy._

Stan put his hands on his hips. “Trust me, bro, the only book you're gonna need tonight is this one right here!” 

He whipped an entire book out of nowhere and held it out. It looked some kind of sketchbook that Mabel and Stan had decorated together, with pink paint and pirate stickers and a title reading _Stan's Awesome Rap Lyrics._ Smaller print beneath it read, _Eat it, Preston the Pimple!_

“It's pretty much the greatest musical masterpiece of our time,” Stan told him. “Hey! When I say 'Stanley' you say 'Rap Star'! Stanley!” He paused. “Stanley!” Paused again. “Stanley!” Paused again. 

Ford stared at him. 

Stan waited, grinning. “I could do this all day.” 

 

Mabel pulled out all the stops for the After Party. They used the spooky green mood lighting she'd had for Summerween, plus tons of tables loaded with chips, dips, marshmallow salads, and pinatas shaped like her head. (Stan was _totally_ gonna eat those candy brains.) They'd brought out the speakers and sound equipment and set up a makeshift stage outside the Shack, complete with a disco ball hanging in the middle of the lawn. Fiddleford was on the roof, stringing up orange and green lights. 

Stanley was standing on the stage with Gompers, hands on his hips, the mike from the karaoke machine in one fist. 

Suddenly there was a bang and he was covered in glitter. 

“Hey!” 

“Ha ha ha!” Mabel grinned and cocked the confetti cannon. “Gotcha!” 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Well, the confetti cannon works. But what's with the karaoke machine? It's got like – _eighties disco music on it._ ” He clicked through the menu. “I mean seriously? 'We Built This Township on Rock and Roll'...'Dangerlane to Highway Town'...'Taking Over Midnight' by &NDRA?” He turned to Mabel. “What gives? I thought we were gonna rap like actual cool people!” 

“Don't worry, Stan the Man, you'll still get to rap! We're just saving that for the Grand Finale. Plus these are great songs from an era of comparative innocence and childlike wonder! They're gonna love it!” 

“They're gonna love puking to it,” Stan muttered. 

“SHOTS FIRED!” She swung the cannon around and took aim. Stan yelped and ducked, barely missing a second round of confetti. He jumped off the stage and she chased him, trying to nail him with colored pits of plastic, both of them laughing like maniacs. 

 

Ford and Seanda were stapling posters to the exterior of the Shack. The posters had special multicolored ink that lit up under a blacklight. Seandra was taller, so while Ford hung the posters, Seandra put black lights above each one. Normally he'd be over the moon about hanging out with her, but he could barely concentrate on what he was doing. Stapling, that's what he was doing. When he could've been hanging out with secret government agents, investigating the mysteries of the town, earning the reputation as a scientist he'd wanted all his life! He'd been _so close_ to his dream...

Seandra put up the next light and clicked it on. “Check it out – these black lights make my teeth look scary!” She grinned at him. The phosphors in her teeth absorbed the UV light reflected it as a pale, green-tinted glow. “It's like a crime scene in my mouth! C'mon, you love it.” 

Ford sighed. “It's not fair. Finally I meet government agents who can help me solve the mysteries of this town and Mabel confiscates their card!” He stapled the bottom of the poster with a slap. 

Seandra raised an eyebrow. “You realize you've been working on that all summer just fine on your own. And _I've_ been working on that practically my whole life. You don't need government agents to validate our work.” 

“I know, but I _do_ need them to make it public, to give it the credibility it deserves. Think of the resources they'd have that we don't – the labs, the funding...” 

Seandra looked around. “Okay, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I think the ol' lady hides like, _everything_ in her room.” 

Ford considered this, rubbing his chin. “But if I go into Mabel's room, I could get in so much trouble...” 

“Yeah, you're probably right.” Then she plopped a party hat on his head. “And that's why we've been practicing our stealth moves, right?” 

Ford grinned. “Right. Time to put those moves to work!” 

 

Stan was hiding from Mabel under the Mabel-Pinata table. She ran straight past him, shrieking a battle cry. Stan sniggered to himself...and then he heard the sound of breathing. He looked slowly to his left. 

“Hiii!” 

“GAH! KILL IT! _KILL IIIIT!_ ” 

Stanley grabbed the pinata bat and started a full-scale attack. The table exploded in a shower of paper mache and candy brains. Stan scooped some up and lobbed it at the horrible monster, screaming and waving his bat as he chased it off. 

_Click!_

“Whoa there!” 

Something grabbed his shoulder and jerked him to a halt. He looked up at D'Andre's smiling face. 

“Easy, Stan! That's just Toby Determined. He wouldn't harm nobody.” 

Toby peeked out from behind Janice. “'Harm', no,” she drawled, “unless you count scaring them to death.” She bonked him on the head with her fist. He whined like a really sad, really ugly puppy.

Reggie laughed. “Check it, Stan!” He held up his phone. He'd taken a picture of Stan running full-out, wall-eyed, mouth open in a scream and his bat swinging wildly. 

“DUUUUDE! That is so cool! Can you photoshop my helmet on there?” 

He fiddled with it and held it up again. In the picture Stan was now wearing a red horned helmet. “I also added a tail,” Reggie said. 

“Yes! Yes! Send to all! LET THEM FEAR MY POWER!” 

 

Mabel sat at the Admissions table. She figured she'd give Ford a little extra time with Seandra. He'd definitely earned it after helping defeat Bud (plus she liked taking people's cash).

Valerie showed up first. “I brought six pies that cannot be detected by government satellites,” she said. 

Next came Manly Dan. “These kegs are full of MEAT!” he bellowed, one keg on each burly shoulder. 

Tanya followed, snapping her gum and laughing by turns. “Ha! Reggie sends me the craziest texts.” 

Mabel counted the money piling up. “The whole _town_ is showing up!” she said gleefully. “And no sign of those pesky agents. Seandra, Ford, how're those posters comin' along?” she called. But when she turned to look, Seandra and Ford were gone. 

“Hmm...” 

 

The door to Mabel's room was covered in pictures of Waddles, but there were a few photos of Stan, Ford, and Gompers up there, too. Plus a couple of her and Ria eating a stack of cakes. (As in, several cakes, one on top of the other. With rainbow frosting.) Her door also had a _NO MINERS ALLOWED_ sign that Ford was pretty sure she'd stolen from Skull Fracture. She'd written a red “o” so that it read _NO MINORS ALLOWED_ instead. 

Ford tested the doorknob. It wasn't even locked. 

“I'll keep an eye out for the authorities,” Seandra said. “You go rustle through her weird old-lady stuff.” 

He nodded and stepped cautiously inside. It was carpeted, with an old-fashioned pot bellied stove in the corner. There was a dresser against the far wall, a bed which was basically just a mattress and a blanket, and a nightstand. An old trunk stood in front of a small walk-in closet on his left. The floor was scattered with old socks, a few cassette tapes, and a couple of sodas. The walls were oddly bare. Just a couple of broken cuckoo clocks, a painting, and a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Odd. He was expecting something more...flamboyant. It was like she barely lived in here at all. 

“Alright, Grauntie Mabel,” he muttered. “Where did you hide that card?” 

He went to the dresser and opened a drawer. There were a couple of magazines, a diamond ring, a perfume bottle, and a deck of cards inside. 

“Nothing...” 

He checked the closet. A couple of identical Ms. Mystery skirt suits, golf clubs, a bowling bag, hat boxes that smelled like feet. 

“Nothing...” 

The nightstand. A lot of make up and a pair of brass knuckles. 

“Nothing...” 

The trunk. It actually looked more like an old treasure chest reinforced with brass, but it wasn't locked. He lifted the lid. It was literally stuffed to the brim with romance novels, each with highly muscular men and femme fatal women striking poses on the covers.

“Ew! Pretending I never saw that.” 

He scanned the room again. The painting caught his eye. It showed Mabel in a bright pink frilly dress, wearing a crown loaded with fake jewels, posing on a beach with one fist raised against the sky as the waves swelled and splashed behind her. But something about it seemed...off. And then he realized something was peeking out behind one side of the frame. 

“Wait a minute...”

He pulled it aside. She'd used the painting to hide a metal-lined hole in the wall. Something about that seemed eerily familiar, but before he could really think about it, he saw the “Contraband” box sitting in the middle of the opening. 

“Haha! YES!” He grabbed the box, yanked it out, and shuffled through the random junk until he found Agent Powers' card. Then he dashed to a telephone he'd seen on the floor, one of those old ones with curly cords and everything. He checked to make sure it was plugged in and immediately dialed the number. A voice came on the line. 

“Agent Powers.” 

“Hi, this is Stanford! The kid from the Mystery Shack? The one with the, uh...sweating problem?” He cleared his throat and paced a little. “I have that journal I wanted to show you!” 

“And you're sure this...' _journal_ ' will help us solve our case?” 

“I'm one hundred percent positive!” 

“Very well. We're on our way.” 

_CLICK._

Ford jumped and spun around. Mabel was standing there, face like a thundercloud, one finger stabbed down on the switch hook. Seandra stood behind her, cringing slightly. 

“Sorry, Ford,” she said, holding up her phone. There was a picture of Stan running around with a bat and a horned helmet, over a caption reading _Like A Bat Out of H..._ Her fingers blocked the rest. “I got distracted.” 

Mabel snatched the phone away. “Kid, why did you call those agents?” she demanded. “If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times! There's nothing supernatural going on in Gravity Falls!” 

“ _Yes, there is!_ ” Ford said angrily. “After everything that's happened, you have to know that by now!” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “All I know is that your dumb obsession is gonna get all of us in trouble one o' these days. Now go enjoy the rest of the party.” She grabbed the backs of their shirts. “'Cuz when it's over...you're _grounded!_ ” She shoved them out of the room towards the front door. 

Ford caught his balance and stood there for a minute. Seandra kept walking. He could feel Mabel staring at the back of his head. Anger built in his brain. 

_Bill was right. I can't do anything with people holding me back. So what if Mabel never believes me? I'm gonna go talk to those agents_ tonight. 

He set his jaw and started for the door, the journal pressed against him under his jacket. 

 

Mabel watched until they were both gone. Then she realized she was tapping the door frame nervously. It was a good thing she never kept anything _really_ secret here in her room. Who knows what the little gremlin would've done if he'd found it...? 

She felt spooked. She stepped out of her room and walked quietly to the Gift Shop. Pink and orange light glowed from the window, so she didn't have to flip a light switch. She headed to the vending machine and typed in the code. When it opened, she took one last glance around to make sure no one was watching, and slipped inside. 

 

Stanley swaggered through the crowd, his face red with excitement (and punch). Three kids had already come up to him to compliment him on his dance moves from the last party, and he'd flirted with six local ladies – and only one of them threw punch at him! 

“Got dumped already, Stan?” Janice said, catching sight of him. 

He winked at her. “That's what she'll want you to think!” he said cheerfully. 

The place was thoroughly packed. Pretty much the whole town had come because, of course, they had nothing better to do with their lives. He saw the little Gorny kid from Summerween, Mr. Poolcheck (neck veins were bulging, as usual), and Seandra, who went to hang out with her friends. Then he spotted saw a cute girl with little cat earring studs hanging out by the stage, dancing to the tunes. He grinned, grabbed a napkin from someone, and wiped off his face. Had to make sure she saw the unfiltered fineness that was Stan Pines!

He was just heading over when two pairs of uniformed legs stepped in front of him. 

He looked up. _Oh, boy_. “What'sa matter, guys?” he barked. “Couldn't meet your speeding ticket quota tonight?” 

Johnson and Velasquez frowned down at him. 

“We've gotten complaints about the loudest party in town,” Johnson said. 

“Three words...” Velasquez paused. “ _We want in._ ” 

Johnson took out some cash. “Is this were we hand in the admissions fee?” 

“Why yes!” Stanley said loudly. “YES IT IS!” 

They shoved the money at him and jogged off, laughing and heading straight for the karaoke machine. Stanley grinned and pocketed the money. Now to find that cute little kitten from earlier!

 

The car pulled up, its blinding white beams cutting through the trees and casting darker shadows against the night. Ford held up his arm to let his eyes adjust as the agents stepped out. They checked their watches. 

“Guys!” Ford ran up to them, grinning, the journal tucked under one arm. “I'm so glad to see you! Working together, we can crack all the big questions of Gravity Falls! Trust me, this book is the lead you've been looking for.” He held it out to them and they flipped through it, no doubt impressed by the quality of the research and the notes he'd added in. He started pacing excitedly. “I'm thinking full-scale investigation. Forensics, researchers...do you guys have a helicopter?” He paused, grinning. “I'm sorry – helicop _ters._ ” 

Agent Powers glanced up at him. “Kid, I'd love to believe you, but this just looks like more junk from your aunt's Gift Shop. I mean, ' _Leprecorn_ '?” He held up the page with both hands. “I can't be the only one that thinks that's not funny.” 

Trigger folded his arms. “I can confirm,” he nodded. “Not funny.” 

“Nonono, it's real, I swear!” Ford said. “Send it to the lab! Check it for fingerprints! Chemical analysis!”

Powers pushed the book at him. “Your aunt was right about that overactive imagination,” he said, turning away. “We've got paperwork to do, kid.” 

“ _Boring_ paperwork,” Trigger added. 

“WAIT! This book is real!” He ran after them, holding it up and flipping pages frantically. “Gnomes – cursed objects – spells –”

They were still walking away. _Can't happen – not twice – can't lose this chance –_

_THERE!_

“Listen!” he shouted. “Corpus levutus, diablo dominus, mondo vicium!” 

His voice echoed through the forest, and somehow all the small noises of the night fell instantly silent. The agents turned. An eerie wind blew through the trees. The hair on Ford's neck prickled. 

Then...nothing. 

But before Ford could try a different page, the earth under his feet quaked and shuddered. A deep crack split open right where Ford was standing. He yelled and jumped over it, backing up until he stood between the two agents. The three of them watched the widening chasm in horror. A sickly green light shone from it. A nasty smoke billowed out, stnking of rotten eggs and vomit. A shape emerged from the smoke, clawing at the ground. The rotted human fingers shredded at the grass as it hauled the rest of its carcass into the mortal world. Its skin was gray, its brain showed through the top of its skull, and one eyeball dangled grotesquely from its socket, while the other eye glowed with rage. 

“ _Raaagh..._ ” 

“Ha! A zombie!” Ford shouted with delight. “A real, actual zombie! See?” He turned to the agents, grinning. “Spooky journal, 100% real! _Now_ can we work together?” 

The agents' eyes were fixed on the zombie in horror. 

 

“Mother of all that is holy!” 

“Whaddowedo?” 

“It's just one zombie,” Ford said. “Trust me, I see stuff like this all the ti –”

“ _RAAAGH!_ ” 

The zombie lunged at Ford, green slime flying from its mouth. He yelled and Agent Powers grabbed the nearest rock and bashed its head in. It collapsed.

“Phew.” Ford took a small step back and tried not to breathe through his nose. “Good thing it was just that one!” 

The words had barely left his mouth when the ground shuddered violently. Half a dozen fissures split open in front of them, each glowing with eerie light and belching green smoke. This time, instead of just _one_ zombie emerging per chasm, hordes came out of each one, their eyes glowing, their bodies practically falling apart as they limped and crawled and clawed their way to the mortal world. 

“Ohhh my gosh.” Ford's face went white and he backed up with the agents. “Y-you guys can help, right?” 

Agent Powers swallowed. “Kid, we've been chasing the paranormal for years – but we've never seen anything like _this_ before!” 

“Get down!” Trigger yelled. 

A zombie dove at Powers' back, hurling him to the ground. Another brought down Trigger. The agents screamed, clawing at the ground as the zombies grabbed their faces and heads and legs and dragged them back towards the gaping chasms. 

Ford's heart pounded and his guts shriveled with horror. 

“Oh my gosh, _what have I done?!_ ” 

 

The party _rocked_. Even though Velasquez and Johnson were doing some sort of wannabe karaoke thing, Ria had cranked the music so it pretty much drowned them out. And the guys from Poker night had shown up! Everybody was dancing, they'd blindfolded Toby and told him to go search for a giant Mabel Pinata (there wasn't one), and Stan had finally hit it off with the cute girl. They stood by the punch table, which Stanley had not yet booby trapped, while he basically made himself irresistible. 

“So...your earrings are cute,” Stan said. “Let's talk about that!” 

Suzy giggled. “Thanks. It took me _forever_ to find a pair that looks like my tabby. Hey, you like cats? Whiskers is due to have her first litter in a couple of weeks!” 

“Litter of what?” 

“Oh my _gawd_ ,” she laughed, giving him a light shove. He laughed too. Man, he could make jokes when he wasn't even trying! 

Suddenly the ground shook. Punch sloshed out of the bowl. Someone screamed. 

“We're all gonna die!” Lawnmower shouted. 

“I think it's an earthquake!” Seandra called. She blew an airhorn. “Hey everybody! We gotta get outta here!” 

Instantly the party turned into a bunch of people screaming and running for their cars. 

“We're all doomed!” Valerie screamed. “I KNEW IT! THE GOVERNMENT TRACKED US USING THE PUNCH!” 

“Quick! Everyone on my back!” D'Andre said. Reggie, Janice, and Seandra climbed up and he hustled them out like a human tank. 

Suzy panicked. “Stanley! Escape while you still can!” She sprinted away. 

“Wait, no, don't leave!” he called. “You didn't even get to hear me freestyle rap yet!” 

But everybody was gone before he'd even finished speaking. (Except maybe Fiddleford, who may or may not have locked himself in his lab.) Only Ria stayed behind, looking worried, and Gompers, who was chewing on someone's wristwatch. 

The sound of familiar panting and wheezing caught his ear. Ford was running around the corner of the Mystery Shack, sweaty and dorky as usual, with a big ol' horde of zombies close behind him. 

Stan got right in front of him and put his hands on his hips. “Geez, Ford, what's the one thing I asked you _not_ to do tonight?!” 

Ford winced. “Raise the dead?” 

“And _what did you do?_ ” 

“...Raise the dead.” 

A fierce growl sounded behind them. The zombies were _way_ faster than they looked – they were only three yards away!

“Get back chiquitos!” Ria said. “This is about to get intense!” 

A second mob of undead emerged from the forest and crashed straight into the refreshment tables. Some of them got stuck and flailed their arms, while their petrified pals climbed over them, green slime dripping from their rotted teeth. 

They backed up against the Shack as the zombies closed in, Stan with one arm thrown in front of Ford, Ria standing in front of both of them. 

“Oh, sorry, one second,” she said. She took out her phone and snapped a picture. “My abuelito is going to love this!” 

“Ria! These are _zombies!_ ” Ford cried. 

“Don't panic!” Stan said. “Do not panic! WE ARE NOT PANICKING AT ALL!” 

A zombie swiped at them and they ducked, its arm barely missing their heads. They screamed and jerked away, but the zombies just kept coming. 

“Stay calm,” Ria said firmly. She turned to them. “My abuelito has prepared me for this moment my whole life. With all the horror movies we watched, I know literally everything there is to know about how to avoid zombies.” 

A zombie immediately bit her on the shoulder. 

She shuddered, her body stiffening, then all at once her muscles relaxed and her eyes rolled back up into her head. They started glowing just like the other zombies' eyes, and her skin turned tombstone-gray. 

She cocked her head. “On second thought, gonna...flip the script. Can I eat your brains, yay or nay?” 

Stan stared at her. 

“Seeing some 'yay' faces over here...” 

Stan and Ford dodged her and raced around the corner of the Shack. Stan grabbed the karaoke machine on the way because it had the glitter canon still attached. They reached the porch, but a zombie blocked their path. Ford leaped forward and sliced it in half with a shovel. The thing crumpled. 

Gompers stood behind it, bleating. Stan grabbed his goat so it wouldn't start chewing zombie bones – even _he_ knew that would probably get his goat sick. 

A zombie was shuffling along the porch. It stopped in front of the door and turned to them, its pale eyes greedy, its jaw slack. 

“Quick, the golf cart!” Ford shouted. 

Instantly the zombies attacked the golf cart, tipping it over and ripping the canvas top to shreds. 

“Aw, come on!” 

Ria, following them, saw the cart and paused to chuckle. “Oh-ho, that's a bummer. Good news for me, though!” 

“ _Ria!_ ” Stan growled. 

She grinned sheepishly, which looked _really_ creepy with her eyes glowing. “Sorry, chiquito, I just really want those brains!” She held out her arms stiffly and started staggering towards them. The zombie horde pressed close behind her. “ _Braaaaains,_ ” she moaned. 

“Stay back!” Ford grabbed the nearest disco ball, tossed it in the air and then hit it with the shovel. Ria jerked out of the way and the ball flew straight into the mouth of the zombie behind her. It swallowed it with a nauseating _squelch_. Stan watched in horror as the ball moved slowly down its throat and into its chest, distending the rotting gray skin – and then the ball suddenly _switched on_. Garish lights shot straight out of its ribcage, painting the mob in blue and red. 

“Oh that is just sick and wrong!”

Ria and the zombies lurched towards them, her arms raised stiffly, her eyes blank. “Give it up, chiquitos!” she said cheerfully. “Your fighting only makes us look more rad!” 

“Since when do you use cool slang?!” Stan demanded, backing up. He was gripping Ford's shoulder from behind. “And where's Grauntie Mabel?!” 

“How's she supposed to help?” Ford said. “She doesn't even believe in the supernatural!” 

 

The Portal was acting up again. At least she _thought_ it was acting up. It was doing a pretty snazzy light show with thin beams of light blue flashing at random. That was _probably_ not normal. The thing might've just been reacting to more Gravity Falls weirdness, but she had to make sure it wouldn't go offline. She checked and re-checked the calculations from the journals, toggling switches and monitoring the equipment. Security cameras glowed from small screens to her right, but she tried to ignore them. It was already hard enough to stay focused with a party going on. Now she had the government to deal with, too! What would happen if those agents came downstairs _right now_ and saw the portal doing all kinds of weirdness?

“Those agents could ruin everything,” she muttered. “Darn kid... He has no idea what he's messing with. He's stubborn, that's his problem,” she told the Portal. 

When she looked up at it, the photo of her grephews caught her eye. She'd framed it and put it on her desk a couple of weeks ago. It was the only personal thing she'd ever brought down here. She saw her reflection overlaying Ford's, the shape of their noses, the shape of their eyes. Her mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Sorta like me, I suppose...” 

She shook herself out of it. “Agh, I can't get distracted, this stuff's too temperamental. Stay focused, Mabel!” she scolded herself. “Alright, let's see...” 

 

The zombies had completely blocked the entrance. They were clustering closer and closer. 

“Where are we going?” Stan panted. 

“Gift Shop!” Ford gasped. “Leading them around so – they'll all follow us...and they won't block –”

A zombie lunged at them. Ford looked up but he was tiring and he couldn't raise the shovel fast enough – 

“TAKE THAT SUCKAH!” 

Stan was suddenly in front of him, smashing the zombie with the karaoke machine. The zombie's skull popped off and flew right over their heads. The rest of its body just keeled over. 

Stan grinned. “This makes a surprisingly good weapon,” he said, hefting the machine. 

“ _RAAAAGH!_ ” 

“AAAH!” 

They dove for the Gift Shop. All of the zombies had literally followed them around the Shack, so the doorway, as Ford had planned, was no longer blocked. Stan and Gompers darted inside. Ford slammed the door shut. 

“Quick! We need to board up all the windows!” 

Ford locked the door and knocked over a bookshelf, trying to shove it in place behind the front door. Stan got there first, wheeling a heavy carved stone to rest just under the doorknob. Ford propped up the bookshelf on its side to block the bottom half of the window. They piled everything they could against the wall – the T-shirt rack, the cooler, the diver's brass helmet, whatever wasn't nailed down. The zombies reached the door and pushed at it, working their limbs between the door and the wall, but for the moment it seemed as if the barricade would hold. He and Stan backed up nervously. 

“Okay,” he panted. “Maybe that'll hold 'em...” 

_SMASH!_

One of the front windows shattered. Ria stuck her head through the frame, shards of glass perilously close to her neck. 

“Hey, chiquitos!” she said, grinning. She stood back and held up an electric drill. “By the way, I taught the zombies how to get into the fuse box! Among these guys I'm like a genius!” 

There was a shrill zapping noise and the whole Shack went dark. The only illumination came from the strings of party lights outside.

“Better get those brains, amigos!” Ria laughed, stepping away. The zombies surged forward. Their dead fingers crushed the remaining glass to powder. Their nails scored the wood. 

Ford ran for the opposite wall and then jerked back with a cry. A zombie had stuck his arm straight through the wood. It growled and clawed at him, hungry for his brains. 

He backed away until his back hit the Fiji Mermaid display. Stanley pressed against him, and Gompers squealed and trembled at their feet. 

Stan held the karaoke machine in front of them, but his knuckles were white with fear. “Isn't there something in the journal about defeating zombies?!” 

“No – there's nothing in there about weaknesses!” 

The zombies were climbing inside, dragging themselves in through the front door, leaving oozy bits of themselves in their wake. Their mossy teeth were actually dropping out of their slack jaws, and their glowing eyes fixed on on Ford as he wracked his brain for ideas. 

Stan tried to pry the confetti canon off of the machine, but his fingers kept slipping. “F-Ford? Tell me you got a plan there, buddy.” 

Ford's head spun but all of his plans involved tools from his lab. Why hadn't they just run there first? He could've built a temporary death ray or something! 

The zombies were now only yards away and they had literally nowhere to run. They were surrounded. 

“This can't be happening,” Ford said, his voice rising higher and higher. “I wanted answers so bad I put you and the whole Shack in danger. Now we're toast, it's all my fault, and _no one can save us!_ ” 

A zombie grabbed his arm and he screamed. 

“NO!” Stan leaped forward and grabbed Ford's jacket, but the zombie was preternaturally strong and yanked Ford easily out of Stan's grasp. 

“AAAAH! STANLEY I'M SORRY!” 

“SIXER!” 

The zombie unhinged its jaws and Ford screamed and – 

_BANG!_

Something fast and heavy struck the zombie's head and it dropped him. Ford landed hard and Stan caught him from behind. For a split second Ford sat frozen, staring at the moldy skull – and then a bright pink loafer slammed straight through the cranium, splattering him with bits of rotted brain. He looked up. 

Mabel stood in front of the vending machine, backlit by its blue glow and the mood lights from outside. She was breathing heavily, covered in gooey zombie guts, her clothes ripped to shreds, Stan's bat in her hand. 

Stan gasped. 

The zombies had regrouped and were closing in again. “You two! Attic! Now!” she barked. 

“G-Grauntie Mabel?” Ford blurted, stunned. 

“I SAID _NOW!_ ” 

Stan yanked Ford to his feet and they ran for the den. Ford glanced behind him. Mabel was beating them back with the bat, bashing zombies left and right, bellowing insults and threats. 

“Alright, you undead jerks, are you ready to die twice?! Take _that!_ And _that!_ ” 

“Ford! _MOVE!_ ” Stan bellowed, and they ran up the stairs, racing for their room. Ford could still hear Mabel yelling at the top of her lungs. 

“The only wrinkly monster who harasses my family...is me!” 

They made it to their bedroom. They shut the door just as they heard a loud _booong_ ring through the timbers of the house. 

_The grandfather clock! Did they hit Mabel with it? Is she okay!?_

Ford and Stan glanced at each other, worried. Then something started banging on the door. Ford backed up, his arms raised in self-defense. Stan sucked in his breath and tightened his grip on the karaoke machine. Fear burned in the pit of Ford's stomach. 

_They got Mabel – they got her – we're next –_

The door slammed open and Mabel burst through. 

“Ow,” she coughed. She slumped over and bracing herself on her knees. “Everything hurts.” She coughed again. 

“GRAUNTIE MABEL!” they yelled. She had a wicked gash across her chest, but it hadn't cut all the way through her clothes. 

“Grauntie Mabel, that was amazing!” Ford exclaimed. He watched her prop a chair under a doorknob to hold the door shut. “Uh... A-are you alright?” 

She didn't answer. She stayed facing the door, her back bowed. 

He gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, I guess you can't deny magic exists anymore, right?” 

“Kid I've always known.” 

He blinked. “Wait. What are you talking about?” 

She turned around, gesturing angrily. “I'm not an _idiot_ , Stanford! Of _course_ this town is weird! The one thing I know about that weirdness is that it's dangerous –”

A zombie limb burst straight through the wood of the door. They yelled and backed away towards the window. Mabel stayed in front of them, her arms raised like a boxer's. 

“I've been lyin' about it to try and keep you away from it,” she continued. “To try to _protect_ you from it!” 

The window behind them shattered. Gompers bleated with fright as another zombie dangled from the roof, glaring in. Mabel gave it a solid left-hook and knocked it two stories straight down. She leaned out of the broken pane, and Ford stood on tip-toe to look over her shoulder. The place was thoroughly surrounded. 

She pulled back, her mouth twisting in a grimace. “Obviously I didn't lie well enough,” she muttered. 

Stan looked up at her. “Grauntie Mabel, if this is gonna be my last night as a blood-and-guts human, then I'm glad I got to see you _seriously_ kick butt. That was like, _epic._ ” 

She ruffled his hair, but it was a half-hearted gesture. “Thanks, kid. But I'd rather you spend a whole lot more days full of blood and guts, if you know what I mean.” 

Ford had taken out the journal and was flipping through it again, even though he already knew he'd find nothing. He growled in frustration. “Ugh, normally the journal would help us, but there's nothing in here about defeating zombies! It's hopeless!” He held up the journal to show them. 

Stanley did a double-take. “Wait wait wait! The text!” 

“What?” 

He pointed. “Look! It's glowing in the blacklight!” 

“ _What?_ ” 

Ford looked down. A blacklight shone up at him from the floor – _and there was glowing ink in the journal._

He gasped and set it down on the ground, right in front of the light. There was writing on both pages, sketches, symbols he'd never seen before. He turned the page, going from the middle of the journal back to the beginning. There was invisible ink on almost every page, sometimes random comments, cryptic warnings, whole pages thick with glowing text. 

“I can't believe it...all this time I thought I knew all the journal's secrets, but it's written in some kind of invisible ink!” 

“Invisible ink,” Mabel repeated, her tone a bit strange – but Ford couldn't spare the time to think about it. He went straight back to the zombie page towards the start of the book.  
“Here it is! 'Zombies have a weakness! Previously thought to be invincible, their skulls can be shattered with a perfect three-part harmony!'” 

“'Invincible'?” Stan repeated skeptically. “I mean I _did_ smash one with the karaoke machine, and Mabel popped one zombie's head right off its shoulders.” 

“No no no, it means invincible in the sense that it can be constantly revived,” Ford corrected. “But I bet if we could make this happen they couldn't be resurrected anymore.” 

“What? Oh come on, now you're just makin' stuff up! Right Grauntie...” He turned, and paused. Ford followed his gaze. Mabel was grinning wider and wider, a crazy gleam in her eye. 

“Uh...Grauntie Mabel?” 

“Kids,” she whispered excitedly, “We are going to make _so many exploding heads right now!_ ” 

 

In retrospect, Stan wished he'd let those zombies eat the karaoke. 

He, Ford, and Grauntie Mabel all stood on that skimpy little ledge on the roof where Seandra liked to hide her snacks. (Gompers had clambered up after them and was hiding behind the Mystery Shack sign.) Stan was really, _really_ glad he'd recently mastered his fear of heights...although the fact that he was now afraid of zombie hordes was not exactly an improvement. 

Mabel tapped the microphone. “Hello, hello?” she said. “Is this thing on?” 

The zombies were attracted to the noise and were now all headed their way. 

_Oh, yay._

“I will pay you ten bucks to figure any way out of this,” Stan muttered to Ford. 

Mabel heard him. “Oh come on, kids! We're gonna do family karaoke! That's what you wanted in the first place!” 

“Uh, no, I wanted to blow people's minds with the awesome power of rap.” 

“And now you get to do that literally!” 

“That's _not_ what I –”

“ZOMBIES AND GENTLEMEEEEN!” Mabel cried. “I'm Mabel, they're Stan and Ford, and together, we're Love Patrol Alpha!” 

“I never agreed to that name!” Ford said quickly. 

“HIT IT!” 

Ford reluctantly clicked the 'on' switch, and the karaoke screen lit up with a starry background. A dancing silhouette appeared on the screen. She was going to make them sing _disco eighties music?!_

“Aw, no, my life is not worth this!!” 

Mabel held up the mike and sang. “ _Friday night, we're gonna party 'till dawn!_ ” 

Ford looked doubtfully at the screen. “ _Don't worry, Daddy, I've got my favorite dress on..._? Mabel, this is stupid!” 

She ignored him. “ _We're rollin' to the party,/the boys are lookin' our way./We just keep dancin', we don't care what they say!/And all the boys are ganging up in my face –_ ”

A zombie swung over the ledge with a roar, grabbing at them with jagged fingernails. They yelled and leaped away.

“Sing faster!” Stan shouted. “ _Boys are a bore!_ ” 

“ _We'll show them the door,_ ” sang Mabel. 

Ford joined them. “ _We're takin' o-ver the dance floor!_ ” 

“ _OOO-OOH! GIRLS DO WHAT WE LIKE!/OOO-OOH! WE'RE TAKIN' OVER TO-NIGHT!_ ” 

The zombies beneath them literally exploded, grabbing at their ears in agony before their brains popped like bubbles. Stan grinned and sang at the top of his lungs. 

“ _WE'RE QUEENS OF THE DISCOOO!_ ” 

Mabel sounded like a bullfrog with laryngitis and Ford sounded like a whiny kitten and Stan was singing so loud his voice was hoarse, and the zombies just kept bursting into piles of gooey bones. 

“... _we're takin' over to-night!_ ” 

Ford got carried away and riffed the last line. “ _Ta-kin' o-ver toniiiight!_ ” 

Suddenly one last zombie pulled itself over the ledge and snarled, raising its gnarled limbs high. Stan grabbed the confetti canon and unlocked the safety. 

“ _DUCK!_ ” 

Mabel and Ford dove for the floor and Stan nailed the zombie right between the eyes. Its head popped clean off in a burst of confetti and flew a hundred feet, landing squarely in the bowl of punch. 

“ _BULLSEYE!_ ” Stan bellowed. “TAKE THAT ZOMBIE IDIOTS!” 

The three of them fist-pumped, chanting their battlecry:

“ _Pines! Pines! Pines! Pines!_ ” 

 

The totem pole was knocked over, half the roof was shredded down to the rafters, there were several holes in the walls, and pretty much anything that wasn't nailed to the walls was in tatters. The only things that had survived was the stuff in the attic, Mabel's chair, and the contents of their fridge. (Ford thought it significant that even zombies weren't interested in Mabel's culinary concoctions.) 

They picked their way carefully through the living room. Mabel found her fez under the broken telephone and fit it carefully back on her head. 

Ford looked around in dismay. “I'm sorry about this, guys. I totally ruined everything...” 

“Sixer, are you nuts?” Stanley spread his arms, grinning. “ _Look_ at this place! We threw a party so big we almost literally brought down the house! No party can top that.” 

Ford half-smiled. Leave it to Stan to revel in wanton destruction. 

Mabel knelt down and placed one hand on each of their backs. “Kids, listen. This town is _crazy_ , so you need to be careful. I dunno what I'd do with myself if you guys got hurt on my watch...” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'll let you hold onto that spooky journal, as long as you promise me you'll only use it for self-defense, and not go looking for trouble.” She stared right at Ford. 

He stiffened slightly. It wasn't like _he_ was the one who made a habit of breaking rules. “Okay, but only if you promise me you don't have any more bombshell secrets about this town,” he shot back. 

She folded one hand behind her back. “Promise.” 

He did the same. It let him hide the fact that he was crossing his fingers. “Promise.” 

She stood up, looking relieved. “Whew. We have got a _lot_ of zombie damage to clean up. Where's my handywoman?” 

“ _Brains...braaaains!_ ” 

Ria lurched into the room, her arms held stiffly in front of her, her eyes glowing eerily. 

Mabel shrieked. “HOLY MOSES!” She grabbed the nearest broken chair and raised it. 

“WAIT!” Ford said quickly. He stepped in front of her and pulled out the journal. Ria was trying to walk straight through a pile of broken furniture, so he wasn't too worried about her getting to him. He opened the book. “There's a page in here about curing zombification. It's gonna take a lot of formaldehyde.” 

“Oooh, and cinnamon,” Stan said, peeking over his shoulder. “This doesn't have to be like, some kind of health smoothie, right?” 

“Please. We're trying to bring her to life, not kill her twice.” He turned to Ria. “Alright, Ria, let's get you fixed up.” 

Stan took the chair from Mabel and started shoving Ria out of the room with it, like some kind of messed-up lion tamer. 

“ _Brains,_ ” she moaned. “ _Braaaains!_ ” 

“Ria, cut it out!” Stan snapped. 

She chuckled. “Sorry.” 

Ford followed them down the hall, still reading the book, holding up a blacklight he'd found on the floor. 

“I can't believe it,” he murmured. Whole pages of it were covered in the ink, new markings, new notes, new theories on every page. “All this time, the author's secrets were hiding in plain sight!” He turned to a page marked 'Hiding Spot'. It showed an illustration of a tree he'd seen in the woods – along with secret invisible ink drawings of a staircase spiraling down the trunk and into the ground. It had to be the secret entrance to the bunker he'd read about on subsequent pages. What would Bill have to say about _that?_

He smiled to himself. “A whole new chapter of mysteries to explore...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please draw a picture of Stan in that helmet with a bat XD


	2. Scaryoke Short

“You sure you're okay to drive home?” Mabel asked, as Ria climbed out of the metal wash basin. (It was the same one Mabel used to bathe Waddles. The pig didn't seem to mind.) 

Ria tottered slightly on her feet. Ford stepped back to give her room. “I taught zombies how to use a fusebox,” she murmured, giggling. 

“Yeeeah, that's not encouraging. Unfortunately, we don't exactly have a functioning bed at the moment...” 

Ford yawned at the word 'bed'. They'd been up all night fighting zombies, and spent all morning converting Ria from “Living Dead” to “Living”. He was _really_ tired. 

Mabel clapped her hands, startling him awake. “Alright! Here's the plan. Stan, Ford, you guys get out your sleeping bags and whatever blankets you can find that don't have weird undead goo on them. I'm gonna whip us up some breakfast and some Mega-Mabel juice, we'll take a quick power nap, and then I'll call the construction company to repair the Shack!” 

Stan raised a tired hand. “I didn't hear anything after 'sleeping'.” 

She pointed to the Shack. “Get bags.” She mimed eating. “Eat breakfast.” She put her hand together and rested her face on them. “Short nap.” 

“Nap's good,” Stan said, and promptly collapsed. 

Mabel hesitated, then shrugged. “Eh, just leave 'im. Ria, you stay put and make sure Stan doesn't roll into one of these giant cracks in the lawn.” 

Ria gave a thumbs-up, then sat down so hard on the edge of Waddle's basin that the metal actually crumpled. 

“Ooookay, gonna need a new one o' those. Ford, you go get some sleeping bags, and I'll meet you back here with breakfast.” 

“Sure, Grauntie Mabel,” Ford said, with another huge yawn. Man he was tired. 

Ford had taken the sleeping bags to the lab a few nights ago, when Fiddleford slept over to work on the perpetual matter machine. Perpetual motor machine? Something like that. 

_Tired_ , his body said. 

_Saaame_ , said his brain. 

Ford stumbled over the grounds toward the lab, nearly falling through a couple of large chasms on the way. 

The key pad was jammed. It looked like a zombie had tried to get in, and then its brains had exploded all over the keys. Ford groaned and took a screwdriver from under the mat in front of the door. (Fiddleford had been right, it did come in handy.) He unscrewed the panel over the keys, cleaned off as much zombie brain goop as he could, and tapped a couple of circuits back into place. Then he replaced the paneling and typed in the code. The big door whooshed open and he stepped in. 

“ _AAAAAAH!_ ” 

“WhaHEY!” Ford leaped back just as something big and sharp flew past his head. “What the heck?!” 

Fiddleford peeked over Stan's car. He was holding a crowbar, which was shaking rather violently. 

“F-F-Ford? Are – are the zombies gone?” 

“Fiddleford?” Ford blinked. “Have you been here all _night?!_ ” 

“The zombies!” Fiddleford repeated shrilly. 

“They're gone, they're gone!” Ford assured him. “Well, except for Ria, she sort of got turned into a zombie for a few hours – but we changed her back!” he added quickly, as his friend's face turned white. 

Fiddleford disappeared and Ford heard a _thunk_ and the clatter of the crowbar. He hurried forward and around the side of Stan's car. Fiddleford was just sitting there, his back to the car, his knees drawn up, shivering. 

“Really, they're all gone,” Ford repeated. “I mean, there's a bunch of giant cracks in the lawn, but – okay, seriously, Fiddleford, this was no big deal.” 

“'No big deal?'” Fiddleford repeated. “' _No big deal'_?! Ford, I just came in the lab to get wiring for the mood lights, and then the security cams show a bunch of zombies heading for the party, and I _panicked_ and shut the lab and then realized a split second later that I'd have to warn everybody but something jammed the keypad from the outside and the walls are too thick for anything in here to penetrate so I've been _trapped_ here for thirteen hours, six minutes and eighteen seconds knowing everyone out there was in danger and all I could do was hide and hope that they wouldn't come eat my brains!” 

“Okay, uh, it _does_ sound kind of bad when you put it like that, but...” 

“Is...” Fiddleford swallowed. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Oh, totally! When the zombies popped out of the earth there was this big earthquake and it scared everybody off. Ria's the only one who got bit, like I said, but we changed her back no problem. She's still a little loopy, but the I-just-ate-too-many-packets-of-Smile-Dip loopy, not the I'm-gonna-eat-me-some-brain-soup loopy.” 

At the mention of brain soup, Fiddleford's complexion turned slightly green. 

Ford sighed. “Alright, look. You're gonna come outta the lab, and you're gonna eat some of Mabel's breakfast, and you're going to avoid her Mega-Mabel juice at all costs. And then you're gonna go home and get some rest, and we'll do something completely non-zombie-related later, alright?” 

Fiddleford nodded shakily. He allowed Ford to haul him to his feet and lead him out of the lab. The two of them made their way across the lawn, where Mabel was setting out breakfast. 

“Ford, I asked you to get sleeping bags, not a sweaty nerd!” Mabel chided. “Oh, well. Good thing I made extra breakfast! Pull up some grass, Fiddleford, we're having a picnic!” 

Fiddleford sat down rather heavily. 

It was probably the weirdest picnic Ford had ever been to. Not that he'd been to a whole lot, but generally they didn't happen near half-demolished buildings, surrounded by gashes in the earth that led straight down to buried graves, with a woman who had only recently been out for his brains. 

On the bright side, the food was actually decent. Mabel had managed to scrounge up some eggs and bread, and they had scrambled eggs with toast and jam and even some butter. (Stan hogged most of the butter, but still.) Even Waddles and Gompers wandered over to beg for scraps, oinking and snuffling like nothing had ever happened. Gompers was especially interested in licking Fiddleford, which made him laugh and noticeably relax as the meal wound to a close. Ford yawned. Even with the food, he was really, really tired.

“Why would you want to do that?” Stan asked, staring at Ford. 

“Huh?” 

“You just said, 'Wouldn't it be cool if I'd done this in the middle of town.' And then you laughed. I mean, I know you want proof of the supernatural, but” – he yawned – “witnesses aren't much good if they're, y'know, dead. And I don't think we've got that much cinnamon left.” He yawned again. 

“You were just dreaming, Stanley,” Ford said. “Or I was talking in my sleep, one of the two.”

Mabel stood up. “Alright!” She clapped her hands together. “I'ma go call the construction workers and get things movin'. Ria, you've got the day off. Go do whatever you normally do when you're alive. The rest of you, get ready for a buttload of clean-up duty! Be right back!” She bent down, scooped all the breakfast stuff together in the blanket, and threw the blanket over her shoulder, marching across the lawn. 

Ria stood up, stretching. “I sure hope my truck didn't fall into one of these ditches,” she said cheerfully. 

“Uh, Ria, could you maybe give me a ride home?” Fiddleford asked. “My dad's probably worried sick.” 

“Sure, Fiddleford!” 

Ford waved. “I'll call you later if we end up doing anything, okay?” 

“Sounds good.” Fiddleford gave him a thumbs-up and tagged after Ria. 

_Ding ding._

Seandra rode up on her bicycle. “Hey guys, I just got – whooaa, look at this place. Earthquake really did a number on it, huh?” 

“Yeah, Grauntie Mabel's gonna put us all on cleaning duty.” 

She wrinkled her nose (which was so cute it was practically illegal). “Well that bites. You wanna go do a monster movie marathon at my house instead?” 

Ford jumped to his feet. “YESTHATSOUNDSGREAT,” he said too loudly, then coughed to try to make it more natural and then ended up really coughing. Stan rolled on the grass laughing and almost fell into a ditch. 

Seandra smiled. “Awesome. Grab a helmet and let's get going before the old lady catches us.” 

“Got it!” 

Ford ran for the lab. He was pretty sure he'd left their helmets in Stan's car. Stan was right behind him. 

“Dude, this is gonna _rule_. We're gonna watch monster movies, mooch off her snacks, and avoid chores, all at the same time! Hey...” he looked pointedly at Ford. “Why'd you only grab one helmet?” 

“I was, uh, sort of hoping it would be just be and Seandra.” 

A slow grin spread over Stan's face. “Oooooh, boy's got some _moves!_ ” 

“Stan!” 

“Nonono, you don't 'Stan' me, pal. You're in _looooove_.” 

Ford was as red as Stan's devil helmet. “Look, are you gonna let me leave or not?” he snapped. 

“Oh sure, sure. I'll just hang out in here. I know where you guys hid all your snacks, so I can still mooch off your food and avoid chores. Two outta three ain't bad.” And he deftly reached over to the stack of books they'd piled in the corner, pulled one out, and opened the cover. Right where Ford had hidden the pretzel sticks with cheese. 

“Ew, pretzels. But I'm still eatin' your food!” He popped one into his mouth. 

“Gah!” Ford jammed his helmet onto his head. “Forget it. I'll see you later.” 

“Remember, Ford – you've got my face, so you're a guaranteed stud!” Stan called after him. “She's practically _pining_ for you! Oh hey – you're so high-maintenance she can't a- _ford_ you!” 

Ford opened and shut the door to the lab as fast as he could, still blushing. Seandra was across the lawn and he really hoped she hadn't heard that. 

He felt reenergized. He'd just battled a horde of zombies, won, and now he was going on a semi-casual date with Seandra! He was on a roll! He was _unstoppable!_

Unconsciously, one hand went to his journal, where he'd stashed a note he'd written a while ago. Maybe now, maybe today...maybe he could give it to her. 

Seandra waved at him and called to hurry up. He hustled across the lawn to meet her.


	3. Into the Bunker

Ford sat on Seandra's bed, watching a black-and-white horror movie, a bowl of popcorn between them. After Ford had told her about the whole “zombie” thing, they'd started debating how any form of resurrection was scientifically possible, which degenerated into a discussion of which horror movies had the most accurate interpretation of zombification. Hence their current viewing of _Nearly Almost Dead But Not Quite_. They'd reached the part where the two main characters were about to get caught by the less-than-convincing zombie horde. 

“What do we do, Chadley?” said the woman on the screen. “I thought they were dead!”

Chadley narrowed his eyes. “Far worse, Trixandra. They're...” 

“ _NEARLY ALMOST-DEAD BUT NOT QUITE!_ ” Seandra and Ford said with him, and they chuckled. 

Ford grabbed another handful of popcorn. “Man, these movies are a lot less scary when you've actually fought real zombies.” 

“They're slow!” Seandra told the TV. “Just power walk away from them!” 

Ford nudged her. “How much d'you wanna bet _that_ guy dies first?” 

“AAAGH!” said Chadley. “My face is being eaten a lot!” 

Seandra laughed. “Chadley ain't pretty no more.” 

Suddenly her phone buzzed. 

“Oh, one second.” She took it out and checked it. Her face fell. “Ugh, another text from Aaron.” 

“Oh yeah! How's uh, how's all that going?” He stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Seandra rolled her eyes. “I'm over _him_ , I just wish he was over _me_. I mean look at these texts!” She held up her phone. Aaron had sent a picture of himself standing outside in the rain, looking miserable, with “;(” in the text box. “What is that, a winky frown? What does that even mean?” 

“And you're not...” He cleared his throat. “Not seeing other guys, or...” 

“Only the guy at the library when I order microfilms.” 

“Right, right. So!” He ran a hand through his hair like he'd seen Stan do. “So y'know I was wondering if...y'know, if maybe you wanted to...I mean, if you and me would ever...I mean, if maybe you...” He was seriously sweating and she was looking over at him while she chewed popcorn with those perfect lips and and and...

He chickened out. 

“...wanted to join me and Stanley on this mystery hunt tomorrow,” he said, looking down at his knees. “Conspiracy stuff, that's all.” 

“Yeah, dude! I love doing junk with friends. Yo, Chadley, watch out!” she told the TV, and she laughed as the zombies pretended to eat his elbow. 

Ford tried to laugh with her, but even he could tell it was fake. “Yep, 'cuz that's what we are. That's all we'll ever be.” He took a note out of his jacket. It had a bunch of cross-outs, but written in large letters were the words, _I like you_. He'd finally gotten up the courage to write it...and he couldn't even give it to her. He flopped back on her bed. “...Friends.” 

“Dude. You're laying on my bra.” 

“ _AAAAAH!_ ” 

 

The construction workers yanked the totem pole back in place. 

“Hey, easy with that!” Mabel shouted. “It's genuine plastic! And repave the parking lot while you're at it!” She gestured to the deep chasms in the lawn. “I don't want my car falling all the way to China!” 

“Ms. Pines?” The construction supervisor walked up to her. “What exactly caused all this damage? I need to write a report.” 

“Uh...big woodpecker.” 

A chunk of roof collapsed behind her. 

She stuck a large wad of bills in the guy's vest pocket. “Keep the change.” She pointed to her eyepatch. “ _I'm winking under my eyepatch._ ” 

The guy grinned. “Works for me!” 

She waved to him as he walked away. Too bad the construction guys were only paid to help with actual construction. She had an armchair in need of cleaning, a kitchen that had to be re-organized and bits of confetti and zombie hair all over the lawn. She frowned. “Now where'd those kids get off to...?” 

 

Ford stood at the foot of the same tree where he'd first found the journal. Stan and Fiddleford had come with him, although Stan had quickly gotten distracted with a rotting log and was prying bits of bark off of it to see what bugs were underneath. 

Ford cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming.”

“Sure, Ford,” said Fiddleford. 

“I'm just in it for potential treasure,” Stan said, waving a hand without looking up. 

Ford suppressed an eye roll. “Uh-huh. Anyway, we're here to uncover the number one mystery of Gravity Falls: _who wrote this journal?_ ” He held it up for emphasis. “Thirty years ago, the author vanished without a trace. But according to this new clue...” He flipped to the “Hiding Spot” page and took out his UFO keychain. He'd treated the bottom of it with dye to turn it into a blacklight. He clicked it on. The illustration of the tree lit up with glowing ink, showing a staircase spiraling down its trunk. “...we may have found his secret hiding place! We find that author, we find the answers to _everything._ ” 

Fiddleford rubbed his chin and squinted at the tree. “So, we just need to figure out a way to get down there, is that right?” 

“Chop it down, dudes!” 

Seandra rode up on her road bike, grinning. 

“Hey, Seandra!” Stan said, waving. 

Ford ran up to her. “You made it!” 

“'Course! I'm so stoked about this mission! Sure beats listening to my cousin whine about the stock market at home. Thanks for the invite, man!” She unbuckled her helmet and walked off to examine the tree with Fiddleford. 

“Of course!” Ford said, laughing nervously. “No problem! Anytime! I'm – we're always! Haha! Us...” 

Stanley came up to him and leaned an elbow on Ford's shoulder. He was grinning like a cheshire cat. “Uh-ooooh. Inviting Seandra on our mission? Somebody's in loo-ooove!” 

“C'mon!” Ford pushed him off. He took a quick glance around. Seandra and Fiddleford had opened the compartment in the trunk and they were examining the metal switchbox inside. Ford turned Stan so they faced away. “Look,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I've thought it through, and I'm over Seandra. I've looked at it from every angle, and that thing was going nowhere. I know what matters to me now, and part of that is finding the author of this journal.” 

“Ha! _You're_ over Seandra? Allow me to put on some...skepticals.” He made circles around his eyes with his fingers, laughing. 

Ford pushed him away. “I've moved on, Stanley. You should too.” He walked back to the tree.

Seandra was staring up the tree's branches. “Hey. Is it me, or does that branch kinda look like a lever?” 

Ford craned his neck. It looked like some of the bark had peeled away, revealing faint gleams of metal where the branch met the trunk. 

“Huh. Yeah...but how do we get up there?” 

“We could build a portable catapult and throw a line over the lever so we could pull on it,” Fiddleford offered. 

“Oh hey! Stanley's got one – hey Stan, did you bring your slingshot?” 

“Sure. You got anything you want to throw over it?” 

“Oh, mm, that part might be tricky...hey Seandra –” Ford turned, but Seandra wasn't there. She was shimmying up the tree using her belt wrapped around the trunk as leverage. She reached the lever and pushed it until they heard an audible click. 

“Boosh!” She looked down at them, smiling. 

“Wow that was awesome!” Stan shouted. 

“Be careful!” called Fiddleford. 

“How'd you do that?” Ford asked. 

“Hey, you're talking to the girl who literally scaled the town's history museum when she was six,” she said. “I've been rock climbing off and on ever si–”

The tree suddenly began to vibrate, so fast and so hard that Seandra was jarred loose. She fell onto some bushes below, but the tree and the ground around it were sinking! Ford rushed forward. He and Stanley quickly yanked her back and out of the way. 

Finally, when the movement stopped, the four of them peered over the edge. 

It was as if someone had placed a large circular drill around the tree and dug straight down for at least thirty feet. The sides of the hole were smooth and looked like normal dirt, but a series of metal-plated wooden planks popped out of the sides, forming a spiral staircase leading down. The compartment in the trunk of the tree had opened even more, forming a narrow doorway. 

“Cooool,” Stan breathed. 

Ford nodded, standing up. “Alright guys, this is it. Remember, whatever happens down there, we tell no one.” They couldn't let something slip accidentally and have someone _else_ looking to steal the journal. 

Fiddleford nodded, looking pale but determined. Stanley grinned and punched the palm of one hand with his other fist. Seandra closed her mouth and made a motion with her fingertips, as if she was locking it shut and throwing away the key. 

Ford took out his UFO flashlight and clicked it on. “Now, who wants to go first?” 

 

Ford went first. 

Seandra followed right behind him, then Fiddleford, with Stanley bringing up the rear. Ford held his keychain high, bathing their faces with its blue and purple glow. They descended the stairs, passed through the doorway and –

“Whoa,” Ford whispered. 

It was a narrow room lined with metal. Along the right wall were desks and crates and a cot with crates underneath it. The shelves above the cot were crammed with dusty bottles, boxes, seismographs, and a rubix cube. A calender hung over the cot, dating from 1982. 

The left wall of the room was packed with huge barrels covered with cobwebs and a large bookshelf loaded with boxes, each of them labeled with a year in dark red ink. The far wall had a large metal cabinet labeled “Weapons”, half-covered with rust. 

Ford moved into the room, trying to take in everything. The others followed, exclaiming in wonder.

“Geez, Ford,” Stan said. “It's like a suped-up version of your nerd lab.” 

“More like a fallout shelter.” Ford pointed to a metal sign on one wall that said “Warning: Fallout Shelter.” 

Seandra grinned and pried it from the wall. “Yup, this is going over my bed.” 

Stan headed for a metal barrel and shoved his whole face inside. He came up covered with black furry caterpillars. 

“Haha, this is so gross!” 

Fiddleford looked worriedly at a dusty gas mask hanging on the wall. “What exactly was the author doing down here?” 

“It's like he was preparing for a disaster,” Ford said, turning to look at the bookshelves. “But what kind of disaster would need supplies for sixty years?” 

A loud creak made him turn. Seandra had opened up the weapons closet. It was loaded with knives, axes, dynamite – 

“ _Are those guns?!_ ” Fiddleford gasped. 

Seandra shrugged. “Yeah, but they're antiques.”

Stan looked excited. “Bet we could sell those!” 

“No,” Ford said. 

“Fine, how 'bout those grenades, bet we could –”

“No,” the three of them said together. 

“Remind me who tried to build a working death ray again?” 

“Fine,” Fiddleford said, reaching into the closet. “You can have...this.” 

Ford looked. It was an old-timey Shmez dispenser with the head of a Smile Dip dog. 

Stan pulled back the head. “Aw, sweet, it still has candy!” He popped it into his mouth. “Ew, dusty.” He paused, then opened up the whole thing and dumped it down his throat. 

Seandra took a mace out of the closet and tapped the handle against her palm. “Nice. Good balance. I like it.” 

“Uh, guys...?” Fiddleford picked up a can of beans from the floor. The lid had been opened, and as he turned it upside down, mucosal preservatives oozed out. “I think this can's been opened recently.” 

Ford gasped. “The author could still be alive! _Down here!_ ” 

Seandra looked around. “Wait a minute...” She was stared straight at Ford. Then she waved him aside. (With a mace in her hand, he wasn't going to argue.) She reached behind him and tore an old map off the wall. 

There was a huge metal hatch on the wall behind it. 

And it was _open_. 

She swung the hatch wide, revealing a metal tunnel big enough for Ria to fit through easily. A cold, dank draft blew out of it. 

She grinned. “I think I know where he might have gone.” 

 

They crawled through the tunnel on their hands and knees. Seandra had held on to the mace and it kept clanking against the ground. 

Normally, Fiddleford was opposed to weapons, but in this case he was grateful that she still had it. The bunker was the creepiest place he'd ever been. 

“Oh man,” Seandra said, and Fiddleford realized they'd reached the end of the tunnel. “Was this place built in the past or the future?” 

He stepped out after her and looked around. “Wow. This is...still creepy.” 

The tunnel opened into a huge room in the shape of a perfect square. The walls, floor, even the ceiling were all made of square metal panels, the steel discolored with rust. Several of the panels had odd symbols on them, like stylized alchemic runes. 

Seandra stepped carefully over a raised panel at the center of the floor, and Fiddleford followed her lead. 

Ford came out of the tunnel next. “ _Look_ at this place! It looks just like the symbols in the journal!” 

Stan came out as Seandra tapped one of the symbols with the mace. “There aren't any doors,” she said. “Is one of these, like, a secret lever or something to get to the next room?” 

“Or maybe it's another weapons room!” Stan said eagerly. “G'wan, Sixer, do your thing!” He slapped Ford on the back, hard, and Ford stumbled forward. His foot landed on the raised panel. 

_Click._

Instantly the tunnel hatch shut and locked itself. Ford had about one millisecond to panic before a deep alarm bell rang out through the room. 

“What's going on?” Stan shouted over the alarm. 

The symbols glowed an angry red. The whole room started shaking. Fiddleford lost his balanced and fell into Seandra. Stan and Ford grabbed each other to keep from falling. 

And then several panels on the walls, floor, and ceiling began to move, slowly protruding into the room, and Ford could see that they weren't panels at all. They were long, steel, rectangular prisms. And the four of them were about to get crushed to paste. 

 

“We need to get out, we need to get out!” Fiddleford raced for the hatch. Seandra helped, but with both of them straining, the hatch wouldn't budge an inch. 

Ford backed into the center of the room, standing squarely over the center panel, trying to think as fast as he could. There was no safe corner for them to hide, and one of the bars was already moving towards the hatch. It would block their escape in seconds. 

“It won't stop!” Stan shouted. “Sixer! What do we do?!” 

“Uh, um –” He pulled out the journal, flipped to the page about the bunker and found the one with a diagram of the security system. Nothing useful on how to stop it. He whipped out the blacklight and clicked it on. Four symbols lit up in pale green paint. He held it up. “Everyone! Find these four symbols!” 

Fiddleford barely needed a glance. “There, there, there, and there!” he shouted pointing to each symbol in the room. He and slammed the nearest one with his hand. The symbol glowed blue and sank back into the steel bar like he was pushing a button. 

“Two!” Seandra said, swinging her mace at the next one. 

Stanley brought out his slingshot and took aim with a rock. “THREE!” He beaned a panel on the ceiling. 

Ford looked around. Where had Fiddleford said the last one – 

_There!_

He climbed up a series of rising steel bars and slapped it. A doorway opened on the far wall. 

“RUN FOR IT!” Ford shouted. 

They ran, Ford last, ducking and dodging steel beams. Ford felt something grab his back and he jerked out of his jacket and dove from the room just as it completely filled with steel. 

The four of them had piled up on the floor. They got up slowly, shaking and laughing.

“Oh sweet lambs of mercy,” Fiddleford wheezed, grabbing at his chest. 

“Hot belgian _waffles_ ,” Stan gasped, laughing as he lay flat on his back. His face was flushed and he was grinning. “That was – that was _nuts!_ ” 

Seandra got to her feet, smiling. “That has got to be the craziest security system I have ever evaded!” She punched Ford's arm. “Dude, you totally ruled back there!” 

Ford's face went red. “Haha, uh, yeah, thanks.” His arm felt really warm where she'd touched it. 

She was already moving off to check out the room. “Hey guys, get a load of this crazy surveillance room...” 

The place was about the same size and shape as the first room, but it looked much newer. The right and left walls were both lined with really old computers, bulky things that filled the wall from floor to ceiling. The far wall had shelves with more canned beans, lab coats hanging in a corner, and a few gages and dials next to another door. A lightbulb above the door illuminated the room with a cool turquoise light. 

_How is that lightbulb already on?_ Ford wondered. _Did we trigger it when we entered the room? I didn't think lightbulbs could still work thirty years later. And is it my imagination or does my skin feel noticeably softer?_

“Oh hey bro, you forgot your jacket,” Stan said, heading back towards the security room. It was completely walled off with the steel bars. 

_We're gonna need another way out,_ Ford thought. _Or at least a way to deactivate the system._ He moved forward to start investigating. 

Fiddleford had made himself right at home, flipping switches and ducking under the desk to check the circuitry of the computers. 

“This is amazing!” he said, buried up to his waist in the nearest computer modem. His voice was a little muffled and echoed weirdly off the silicon. “These things are way ahead of their time. You know, for thirty years ago. Actually, even now there's some neat tricks with the conductors in here that would probably keep these babies running decades longer than anything on the modern market.” 

“You think you could get one of these turned on?” Ford asked. 

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Fiddleford pulled himself out, his face glowing with excitement. “Man, you should see the inside of these things! I bet my dad would go nuts over it.” He turned back and started dusting off the inner mechanisms. “I mean, seriously, you'd think the person who created this stuff would've put a patent on it or it would've leaked out somehow and the market would've been _flooded_ with this stuff, it's so far ahead of its time –”

“Hey Sixer!” 

Stanley grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Ford's jacket was looped over one arm – and he was holding Ford's note up to his face. 

“Look what I found,” he sang. 

“Ack! _Give me that!_ ” Ford made two grabs for it before he caught the note and crushed it in his fist. He took the jacket back and put it on, stuffing his hands – and the note – into the pockets. He glanced over his shoulder, but Seandra was busy investigating the dials at the back of the room, making notes in her notebook. 

“I knew it I knew it I knew it!” Stan said gleefully. “You're not over Seandra at all! And you were gonna tell her _today?!_ ” 

Ford glared at him. “No! I changed my mind, okay? I'd just embarrass myself and then I'd be another guy she hates, like Aaron.” 

“Sixer, you should just tell her already! And let me watch. And videotape it. It would be hilarious!” 

“No, no, and no.” 

“Oh come on! You've got _this_ handsome mug!” Stan gestured to his own face. “Keep in mind that between the two of us, I _am_ the one who got a girlfriend first, and I'm telling you, Ford, that you are girlfriend-worthy material.” 

“Look, Stanley, I can't tell her no matter how much I want to so just _drop it._ ” 

“Hey Ford!” Seandra called. She was standing over by the back wall, and she'd pried open the door. “You gotta check out this weird metal closet! It's totally empty but there's no weird symbols or anything. We've gotta figure out what they used it for!” 

“Coming!” He look back at Stanley. “This. Never. _Happened,_ ” he said firmly, and he turned away and went quickly over to Seandra, hoping he wasn't sweating too much. 

Right before he reached the closet, though, Stanley grabbed his shoulders from behind. 

“Brother, I just want you to know something...” He paused. Then he shoved Ford so hard he stumbled into the closet and banged the door shut behind him. 

“Wh – hey!” 

Ford stood up, realized he was literally two inches from Seandra, and jerked back so hard he banged his head against the metal door. 

“OW! _STANLEY!_ ” 

“Haha! Bet you were expecting a punch line, weren't you? Too bad you got a push line! ...ugh, that wasn't even that funny.” 

Ford banged on the door. “Open the door, Stanley!” 

“Not until you tell Seandra that thing you wanted to tell her!” Stan sang. “You'll thank me for this later!” 

“What is he talking about?” Seandra asked. 

Ford turned and gulped. She was _really_ close. “Uh, nothing! Stanley's just been...headbutting walls again!” 

“Oh yeah! I should practice that some more!” 

A dull thumping sound started up. 

Ford gritted his teeth. “Let me out _right now!_ ” 

Seandra felt around the closet. “Ugh, where're the lights...?” Ford heard a clicking noise like she'd pulled the cord of an old-fashioned lamp. 

Water shot out of an overhead drain and soaked them instantly. Ford and Seandra yelled in surprise, covering their heads. The water pelted them like bullets. Then it switched off and jets of air blasted them so hard it slammed them together. A low alarm sounded and a sign flashed overhead: “Decontamination Complete.” 

The back wall of the closet slid open, revealing an entirely new room. 

Ford caught his breath. “This...is the coolest lab _ever._ ” 

It was definitely a lab. It was cut crudely out of the earth – the walls were just rock and stone. But the ceiling and walls were reinforced with steel braces and pipes. Tubes and wires were laid at random over the ground. Some of them connected to a series of four tubes lined up along one wall, like cloning pods or freezing chambers or something. There was an even bigger tube at the center of the adjacent wall to their right, but the glass was shattered to pieces, and the controls at the base of it had been smashed. A cage stood in the corner, its bars bent outward, like something had forced its way out. Florescent lights hung from the ceiling. By now Ford was no longer surprised that they still worked. 

Seandra brushed her hair back from her face and they walked slowly into the room. 

Ford followed her in, looking around, trying to memorize everything. “This is so amazing, a hidden lab! Maybe the author did experiments down here.” 

Seandra eyed the walls. At least a dozen holes had been drilled into them, oddly spaced and irregularly shaped. The smallest of them was easily 2 meters across. “Huh. What d'you think dug all these tunnels?” 

Ford looked at the steel cage. “Let's hope we don't find out.” 

“ _RYEAAAGGHH..._ ” 

They jumped. The sound came from deep in the recesses of the nearest tunnel. A shadowy shape slowly moved towards them, a low clicking emerging from its throat, a limb like a scorpion's tail curling towards them. 

They screamed and ran back to the door. 

“STANLEY! OPEN UP!” Ford yelled, banging on the metal. “ _THERE'S A MONSTER IN HERE!_ ” 

“I'm not falling for _that_ again,” Stan called back. “'Don't touch that oozy stuff, Stan, it's a monster! Don't pet that bird-cat hybrid, Stan, it's a monster! Don't touch my soda, Stan, I'm keeping a monster in it!' Although that Pitt Soda _did_ taste a little weird...” 

Ford looked back. The thing was slowly emerging from the tunnel, its body low and heavy, its jointed legs raised like a spider's. 

Seandra's face paled. “Ford, just say whatever Stan wants you to say so he'll let us out of here!” 

“Yeah Sixer!” Stanley called. “It's totally not like I had Fiddlenerd rig a tape recorder or anything!” 

Ford hesitated. The monster was getting closer. He could actually smell it, a cloying, oily smell. 

“Seandra, I...I...” 

She waited, tense. Her deep brown eyes held his and he could see the intelligence and the spark in them and – and – and he was _not_ going to give that up. 

“I'm gonna find another way!” 

“Wait, what?” 

He grabbed her hand and raced along the wall at an angle to the monster. 

“Dude! Where are we going?!” Seandra cried, but Ford saved his breath for running. Had to find a way out of here that didn't involve losing Seandra. 

The thing was after them. Ford ran into a huge tunnel eight feet tall with a pipe running along the ceiling. Pipes had to go somewhere, right? Maybe they could find another way out!

They ran, no longer holding hands so they could move faster. Water dripped from the ceiling and they splashed through puddles. 

Then they skidded to a stop. The tunnel ended in a rockslide. They were trapped. 

They could hear it coming, its low, raspy cry, its sickly sweet smell. They backed against the wall, gasping. Seandra grabbed the mace from her belt and held it in front of them, her hands shaking. “Wh-what do we do?” 

“I don't know!” He'd have to wait and see if he recognized it from the journal, maybe figure out a way to defeat it in the split-second before it killed them. 

A huge shadow loomed on the wall, like a giant centipede with unnaturally bent legs. They watched the silhouette as it opened its mouth and bared its teeth and roared – 

The shadow of a man leaped onto its back, so suddenly Ford nearly missed it. The beast roared again and threw it to the floor. The man was up in an instant, and when the monster bent to swallow him the man reached into its mouth and ripped out its tongue. The monster howled and backed away. 

“ _Back. Back, you heinous beast!_ ” 

The monster fled. 

The man came around the corner and Ford gasped. He was grimy, filthy, with small round aviator goggles that hid his eyes. Yet he stood straight and moved with confidence, his gray hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore an incredibly cool trench coat. 

The man held up something pink, bumpy, and covered with filmy slime. 

“Welp,” he said, “I just ripped out a monster's tongue.” He tossed it casually to the ground. 

Ford looked up at him. “It – it's _you_ ,” he said. Because who else would be down here except the – 

“Hurry, now! I scared it off, but it'll regenerate.” 

He started leading them back through a different tunnel. The first part of it was filled with three inches of water, and Ford sloshed through it in his sneakers. Blue light shone from up ahead, coming from the lab. 

“...wasn't expecting guests,” the man was saying. “I've been down here for a very long time. _Years_.” He paused. “Weeks, maybe. I miss orange juice.”

 _Years?!_ That clinched it! It really was the Author, it had to be!

“You don't understand – you're the guy I've been looking for!”

Seandra blinked. “He's the guy?” 

“Seandra, _it's the guy!_ ” 

The Author looked at him quizzically. “'The guy'?” 

“I've got like, a _gillion_ questions!” He started pacing. “Why did you write the journal? Who was after you? Why did you build this bunker?” 

The Author chuckled and put a hand on Ford's shoulder. Ford practically vibrated with excitement. _Touching the author!!_

“My boy, I'd love to discuss this in time,” he said. “But we have more pressing matters. It's one of my experiments. A _shapeshifter._ Able to take the form of anyone or anything it sees.” He started walking again, they turned a corner and found themselves back in the lab. He gestured to the cage, its bars sticking out like teeth. “It broke free from a cage of solid steel! I've gone half-crazy trying to catch the creature alone...but now you're here!” He knelt and raised his goggles, looking Ford in the eyes. He smiled. “Will you help me catch it?” 

Speechless, Ford nodded so hard his neck actually cracked. 

 

Stan was getting bored. 

“Heeeey,” he called, banging on the closet. “Hurry up in there!” 

Silence. 

_Ugh, fine._ So Ford wanted to play the silent game. There was all this cool secret-y lab stuff out here. The nerd would give in eventually. 

Stan put his hands on his hips and took another look around the lab. There was a cool suitcase he'd banged on like a drum for a while, but that had gotten boring without someone to annoy. Fiddlenerd had practically been swallowed whole by the computer he was messing with. All Stan could see of him were his shoes. 

He went over and started pressing buttons and toggling switches. Suddenly he heard a squelching noise and a Southern-accented yelp. He snickered. 

Fiddlesticks pushed himself out from under the computer, his face covered in a sticky black oil. “Do you _mind?_ ” 

“Nope!” 

Fiddlenerd sighed and sat up, pulling a handkerchief – _an actual handkerchief_ – out of his back pocket to wipe his face. (This guy was like those historical dorks in _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies._ ) 

“I can't believe Ford is missing this,” Fiddleford said. “I've got at least five ideas for what this computer was supposed to do and _all_ of them are cutting-edge. I'm talking cutting edge for _today's world of technology and physics!_ There's stuff in here that would let laptops store twice as much information in a chip the size of your thumbnail!” 

Stanley took a deep breath. “Neeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrr –”

Fidds rolled his eyes. “Har, har.” 

“– rrrrrrrrrrr –”

“Oh come on...” 

“– rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr –”

“OH LOOK A SHINY RED BUTTON.” 

“WHERE?!” Stan whipped around. There actually _was_ a shiny red button on the computer along the left wall, right under a screen that showed three cool space tubes lit up with blue light. 

“Shiiinnyyy,” Stan said, and ran over to push the button. Pressing it made the frozen tubes go dark, then light up again. On, off. On, off. Like a nerdy science video game. “Cooool! Check it out, I'm a scientist!” He grabbed the nearest lab coat off a chair and put it on. It was so long it dragged on the floor. He approached the button importantly. “Watch carefully, Fiddlesticks, as we are about to begin an important experiment! _Frozen! Unfrozen! Frozen! Unfrozen!_ ” 

Fiddledork laughed. “It seems the experiment is successful – the button works!” Then something seemed to catch his eye. “Hey, what's that?” 

Stan looked. There was a clipboard with writing on it next to the button. “'Experiment Number 210: The Shapeshifter. Became too dangerous! Placed in cry – cryo...'” 

“Cryogenic stasis,” Fiddleford said. 

Stan squinted at the tubes. “But...there's nothing in there.” No answer. “Uh, Fiddleford...?” 

Fiddleford had gone very pale. “Stan, I – I hope I'm wrong – but when you shoved Ford into the closet...didn't he say there was a monster in there?” 

Stan gasped. “I thought he was just joking!” 

“You know all his jokes involve physics puns, not monsters!” 

They looked at the closet in horror. 

“Oh no – _Sixer!_ ” 

 

The Author pushed aside a canvas flap. “Come in, come in,” he said, leading them through. Ford and Seandra followed him into a new tunnel. There were a lot more pipes down here. Seandra paused to examine one, but Ford was more interested in keeping up with the Author. There were scattered cans of beans along the walls. This had to be where he'd lived all this time! 

“Pardon the state of things. I don't get many non-mole people visitors,” the Author said absently. “Now the beast must have some weakness that we can exploit...I used to have my research on him but alas, I lost my journals so many years ago...” His shoulders slumped. 

“Did you say 'journals'?” Seandra asked. 

“Dude, I found one of them! It's how I tracked you down here!” Ford pulled the journal up and held it out, grinning when the Author's face lit up. 

“Ha! My boy, I can't express my gratitude!” He took the book and turned away, crouching as he looked over the pages. “Oh yes...after all these years...!” 

 

The door at the back of the computer room led into the lab where the cryogenic tubes were stationed. Stan went first and Fiddleford followed, looking around, but Ford and Seandra were nowhere in sight. 

“Where – where do we even start looking for them?” Fiddleford asked.

“Okay, okay,” Stanley muttered. “If I were a big brainy know-it-all, where would I go?” 

Fiddleford kept glancing around. His skin prickled, like he was being watched. That cage in the corner – what on earth could break steel bars like that?!

“We'd have to go to the most dangerous part of the lab,” Stan was saying. “Somewhere Ford would go if he wanted to investigate something really dangerous and impress a girl...” 

Fiddleford gulped. _Please not the tunnels, please not the tunnels._

“...probably the tunnels!” 

_Oh dear._

“Which tunnel do we even take?” he said desperately. “There's _dozens_ of them!” 

“There! Footprints!” Stanley took off down the nearest tunnel at a dead run. 

Fiddleford yelped. He did not want to be on his own down here!

“WAIT!” he shouted, racing after him, but Stanley was out of sight in seconds. Fiddleford was left alone in a dark dank tunnel gasping for breath with a stitch in his side. Suddenly a huge shadow fell over him and something touched his shoulder and he screamed, jerking back and falling hard on his butt. 

“Would you _chill_ ,” Stanley said, annoyed. “C'mon, it's dark back here! Rig us a light or something, chop chop!” 

“Right, right...” Fiddleford reached into his tool belt with shaking hands. The work was fast and easy, and in seconds he had a small miniature lantern rigged up with a couple of lightbulbs and a battery wrapped in an insulator. He held it up, pleased to see that his hands had steadied. 

“Great, let's go!” 

Stanley grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him down the tunnel. Fiddleford took a deep breath and focused on keeping up. 

He also tried very, very hard not to think about what they might find at the end of the tunnel.

 

“Yes, yes...it's all here...” 

Ford sat on the ground next to Seandra, watching the Author with shining eyes. 

“Seandra, Seandra, isn't this amazing!?” he whispered. “We're actually meeting the _real Author!_ ” 

Instead of replying, Seandra gave a horrible gasp. He looked at her, startled. 

“Stanford... _look!_ ” 

She held up an empty can of beans, turning it so he could see the front of the label. It read “Baron Num Nums, High Flyin' Beans”. The picture in the middle showed a man with his dog and a blimp flying in the background. 

The man on the label looked exactly like the man in front of them. 

Ford locked eyes with Seandra. They didn't dare speak, but they were both thinking the same thing. 

They stood up slowly. The man's – the thing's back was turned, so he cleared his throat tentatively. 

“Y-you know what? We should really get going,” Ford said, trying very hard to sound casual. He stepped carefully towards it. “Can I, uh, have my journal back?” 

For a second, the thing didn't move. Then there was an odd, wet cracking noise and its head rotated completely around and hung down its back. Ford turned white. 

“You're not going _anywhere_ ,” the monster rumbled, its lips peeling grotesquely from its teeth. 

Still holding the journal, the thing climbed the wall until it hung from the ceiling like a spider, its inhuman neck curled down to them. Four jointed insect legs sprouted from its back. It howled, its eyes glowing a blank white.

They screamed. 

The thing morphed into something as ugly as a potato bug, with mucosal skin as pale and translucent as a maggot's, its eyes a milky pink. Its body was shaped like a larvae, the head at one end, four smaller clawed legs at the other, which clung to the ceiling so that it dangled upside down. Its left arm was huge and lumpy, ending in a claw, while its right arm was as thin and whip-like as a noodle, holding the journal in three delicate appendages. Drops of mucus dripped from its mouth. It leered at them. 

“How do you like my _true_ form? Go on, admit it, you like it!” 

Ford snarled. “You! What did you do to the real author?!” 

“You'll likely never find him. That ghost-hunting nerd hasn't been around for thirty years! But I _do_ thank you for bringing me his journal. He used to write it while I was in my cage. So many wonderful forms to take...” It opened the book and started licking the pages, giggling. Every time it licked a page, it changed its form – a gremloblin, a gnome, some kind of Slenderstick. 

“We've gotta get that journal back!” Ford whispered.

“Hey body-snatcher!” she called up to him. “Snatch this!” 

She chucked an empty can at his head just as he shifted into a toad-monster. It opened its mouth and a huge sticky tongue lashed out – but Seandra shielded herself with a piece of metal. The tongue caught on the metal and she dug in her heels, pulling back as hard as she could. When she let go, the tongue snapped back with the metal still attached, banging the monster on the head. It dropped the journal with a squeal. 

Ford darted forward and grabbed it. “RUN RUN RUN!” 

They sprinted down the tunnel. Ford felt the thud when the monster dropped from the ceiling. An unearthly screech filled the air. 

He grabbed the UFO flashlight from his pocket to light their way. They ran faster. The ground vibrated. The shifter had to be close behind. What monster was it now? How fast was it? How was it sensing them?!

The tunnel forked and Seandra darted to the left. Ford skidded to a halt, thinking fast, and threw his keychain down the right-hand tunnel. Then he scrambled into the other tunnel and he and Seandra pressed back against the wall, their bodies barely hidden by a shallow outcropping of rock. 

The monster had become some kind of giant mutant sowbug, with a plated shell, small stumpy legs, and a broad yellow belly crusted with cartilage. It rolled up to the fork in the tunnels, uncurled itself, and saw the light from Ford's keychain bouncing erratically away. It screeched rolled after it, the plates on its back so hard it cut grooves in the rock walls.

The vibrations died away and Ford sighed in relief. “Okay, I think we're safe.” 

“Yeah, but we gotta get outta here,” Seandra whispered. 

They couldn't see very well, so Ford grabbed Seandra's wrist and they ran awkwardly along the tunnel. Ford kept his left hand outstretched, his fingertips brushing the wall so they wouldn't get lost. He pictured the tunnels like a map in his mind. They just had to make it back to the lab – 

“ _Ooff!_ ” 

“Ow!” 

“Hey, get off me!” 

Ford disentangled himself slowly from the pile of limbs. A light flared on and he blinked. 

“Sixer!” 

Stan threw himself at Ford but he stepped back quickly. Stan fell flat on the floor. 

“Ow! What the heck was _that_ for?!” 

“Careful, Seandra,” Ford said, backing up slowly. “They could be the Shapeshifter...” 

Stan clearly looked annoyed, and he put his hands on his hips in a very Stan-ish way. Fiddleford was holding some kind of makeshift lantern, which was definitely typical of a computer genius like him, and he was looking around nervously. But if the shifter could shift into _any_ shape...

“Look, Ford, don't get all paranoid for once,” Stan said. “Me and Fiddlenerd over here just came to save your butts. How's about a 'thank-you', huh?” 

“Riiiight,” Ford said slowly. “Why exactly did you think we'd be in danger?” 

“There was a note on the clipboard in the lab. Duh!” 

“W-we should really get moving,” Fiddleford said. 

Ford hesitated. It really did _sound_ like them, but...

Stan held up a hand. “High six?” 

All the tension left his shoulders. He grinned a little. “High-six.” 

“Wait,” Seandra said. “We can't leave this thing running amok. We've all seen these tunnels. Sooner or later this thing's gonna dig its way to the surface, and then nobody'll be safe.” 

“Yeah, what happened to you guys, anyway?” Stan asked. “You two look like you got in a fight with a mutant badger.” 

“That's not too far off,” Ford said. 

Seandra ticked off on her fingers. “So far, we know that it broke out of its cage, pretended to be the Author, and wants Ford's journal.” 

“How does it even know about the journal?” Fiddleford asked. 

“He said he used to watch the author write in it,” Ford explained. 

“Doesn't matter why he wants it. The point is, we can use it to lure him out.” Seandra brushed wisps of loose hair from her face. Her eyes glinted ominously. “It lured us into its home, tricked us, and tried to destroy us. I say we return the favor.” 

“Dang your girlfriend's hot,” Stan whispered. Ford jabbed him in the ribs. 

 

They figured the shapeshifter would have gone back to the lab, since that was the only exit that they knew of. It would want to make sure it got to them before they could escape. 

Sure enough, as Ford, Stan, and Fiddleford approached the lab, they heard a metallic rattling noise. Like a rattlesnake with an iron tail, accompanied by a creepy scraping. 

“Okay,” Ford whispered quietly. “Stan, Fiddleford, you know the plan.” 

Stan nodded. 

Fiddleford licked his lips. “Ford, I – I don't know about this –”

“Oh don't be such a scaredy cat,” Stan said, and stepped boldly into the lab. “OH BOY,” he said loudly, beckoning to Ford. “THAT BOOK SURE IS FULL OF SOME GREAT MONSTERS!” 

Ford stepped up next to his brother and looked around quickly. But the lab was empty, and still. Shivers crawled up his spine. 

“Where is it?” he muttered. “It has to be here...” 

The rattling noise sounded again. Stan nudged Ford and nodded to the broken computer at the base of the biggest cryogenic tube. Ford shot his brother a Look and they started towards it, moving as quietly as they could. If they could trap it in – or better, get it in one of the remaining working tubes...

A shadow fell over Ford. Stanley shoved him to the ground, hard, a split second before a huge red fist slammed to the ground right where he'd been standing. Ford yelled and rolled away. 

“YOU'RE NOT FIDDLEFORD!” Stanley roared, promptly leaping at the monster. “HYAAAAH!” 

The Shifter, who now had a head shaped like a giant fist, slammed into Stan's gut. He hit the ground with an awful grunt. 

“ _Stanley!_ ” 

The monster turned on him. “ _Give me the book, boy!_ ” 

“Never!” 

He rolled to avoid another attack, one hand in his jacket to hold the journal in place. Through the monster's legs he saw Stanley groan and start to sit up. Ford had to lead it back to Seandra – but now it was blocking his path to the tunnel! 

“You monster!” he shouted at it. “What did you do to Fid–”

_The rattling noise!_

“GOTCHA!” Stan shouted, launching forward and wrapping his arms around the monster's closest legs. “Ford, run, run!” 

“Fiddleford's in the computer!” Ford shouted, darting around the monster as fast as he could. 

“WELL OF COURSE HE IS, HE ALWAYS IS!” Stan shouted back, right before the monster kicked him in the face. It tore loose out of Stan's grip and scuttled after Ford, moving way too fast. Ford screamed as he hurtled down the tunnel. 

Seandra came into view, standing ready at a huge pressure pipe labeled H2O. 

“NOW!” Ford shouted. “NOW NOW NOW DO IT NOOOW!” 

She struggled with the metal wheel. “It's rusted shut!” she cried. 

The monster skidded around the tunnel, growing more massive by the second, its dull teeth elongating into huge gleaming fangs. A huge slimy tongue shot out of its mouth and wrapped around the journal in Ford's hand. It jerked so hard it was dragging him across the floor. 

“HEY!” He dug his heels in and strained. “Let go!” 

“YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Seandra shouted, grabbing the book. They pulled together, but the monster was far stronger and its tongue sucked the book into its teeth, taking Seandra with it. Ford was knocked aside. 

“SEANDRA!” Ford yelled, but she yanked her hands out before the beast could chew her fingers off. She slung an arm around its neck and crawled to its back, drawing the mace from her belt. 

Ford knew she wouldn't last long against a shapeshifter. He rolled to his feet and lunged at the water pipe, slamming into the metal wheel with all his might. There was a nasty screech as it broke free of the rust. Water shot out at full force, hitting the shapeshifter squarely in the chest and forcing it backward – with Seandra still on its back! 

“Seandra let go!” Ford shouted, running after them. “Let –”

 _WHAM!_ The sudden pressure of the released water had opened cracks in the joints of the pipe. Water poured out like a tidal wave, flooding the tunnel, sweeping Ford off his feet. He tried not to breathe as the current banged his head and hands and pretty much every part of his body against the rocky walls. 

Something slammed against his chest and he inhaled reflexively and sucked in water. It burned like fire in his lungs and roaring filled his ears. He coughed harder and harder and then realized that he _could_ cough. The water was starting to subside, and he was floating at the top of the wave. 

Finally the water dissipated, soaking into the rough ground. Ford gasped and coughed until his throat felt raw. He looked up. 

Seandra's mace was lying right in front of him. 

“Oh no – Seandra! _Seandra!_ ” 

There was no answer. 

Ford grabbed the mace, scrambled to his feet and hurried down the tunnel. It opened back into the lab. It was empty except for Seandra, lying on the floor. Utterly still. 

“Oh no – oh no, no, no no!” 

He hurried to her and rolled her over, being as gentle as possible in case she'd hit her head. Her hair had come loose from its pony tail and was swept over her face. He brushed it aside. Her eyes were closed. 

“Oh, no, please be okay, please be okay...” He fumbled for a pulse but his fingers felt like sticks of wood. He held his palm, then his ear to her mouth, listening, trying to feel if she was breathing. She was, but it was so faint. And those small puffs of air were coming slower and slower. “Oh no, no...” 

Her face blurred as his eyes filled with tears. He scrubbed at them with his knuckles, dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to think. CPR – didn't need that, she was breathing, for now. But she was seriously injured and she wasn't bleeding so the injuries had to be internal and that meant it would probably be really dangerous to move her but by the time they went to get help she could be – 

He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

“This is all my fault,” he whispered hoarsely. “If I had told you when we were in the closet we wouldn't be in this mess...but I was too scared and now you could be hurt or worse and I never even got a chance to tell you I'm...in love with you...” His throat sealed shut. He was useless, that's what he was, a useless genius who couldn't even help the love of his life...

“Uh...Stanford?”

Ford looked up. Seandra stood off to his left. She was bruised, scratched, holding the journal, and wonderfully alive. 

“S-Seandra?” he stammered. “Wait, then who's –”

The Seandra on the ground flipped over in a crouch, snarling. Ford jumped back with a shriek, but the shifter lunged straight for Seandra, grabbing for the book. 

“GIMME BACK THAT JOURNAL!”

“NEVER!” 

Seandra dodged and the shifter's fingers raked her hair, tearing out her ponytail with a wicked _snap_. 

Ford dove for the mace, but the two of them were fighting and clawing and punching at each other and they looked exactly the same, right down to the cuts on their faces. They ended up struggling for the journal, each of them holding on so hard he thought the book might rip in half. 

“Hit her with the mace!” one shouted. 

“Don't listen to her, Ford!”

“ _She's_ the shapeshifter!” 

Even their voices sounded the same! “I-I don't know who's who!” Ford said. “Give me a sign!” 

The Seandra on the left smiled and winked at him. 

The Seandra on the right took one hand off the book, drew her fingertips across her lips, and made a motion like she was throwing away a key. 

Ford gripped the mace and swung. 

The Seandra on the left screamed metal spikes lodged in her gut, the wound spurting green puss. With cry she folded over on herself, morphing back into the misshapen grub-like body of the shifter. It squealed with pain, pulling the weapon from its chest. 

Ford hurried over to Seandra. A beeping caught his ear. One of the cryotubes activated, and a green sign blinked above the chamber: Ready.

“Push him in!” Ford shouted. 

They shoved him back and the Shifter back and it howled at them, its pincer-like legs scraped the ground. It grabbed at their hair, but they tripped it over a piece of metal and it fell into the chamber with a thump. Growling, it rose to it feet – and his face hit the glass as the tube sealed it in. 

“Huh?” 

Ford looked over his shoulder. The door leading back to the computer room was open. Stan and Fiddleford were sitting at a console. 

“JYEAH! Limited-flavor popsicle, baby!” Stan shouted with glee. 

He turned back. Vents opened in the top of the tube and a liquid nitrogen mist began to fill the chamber. The monster howled and threw itself against the glass. 

“No!” It raged against the glass, shifting from a massive beast to a living fire to the Can-O'-Beans guy. “ _No!_ Let me _OUUUT!_ ” It shifted back to his true form and howled. Ice crystals formed on the glass, and the creature became a frozen shadow behind the blue frost. The howl died away. 

Stan poked his head into the lab. “Yo, earth to Genius, let's get outta here before Fiddler passes out.” 

“R-right.” 

He turned around – and a strange, chilling laughter filled the air. 

_Slam._

Ford jumped. The shifter pressed its slimy pink-eyed face to the glass, leering. 

“You think you're so _clever_ , don't you, Ford?” the monster sneered. “But you have no idea what you're up against. You will never find the author! If you keep digging, you'll meet a fate worse than you can imagine...and this will be the last form you ever take!” 

The monster shifted into an exact version of Ford. It raised it arms and screamed – even his voice was like Ford's – and the liquid nitrogen finally froze him solid, an expression of pure terror reflected on its face.

Ford stared at it like he was carved out of ice. He couldn't even swallow. 

“Welp, that'll give me nightmares,” Stan said. He headed over, grabbed Ford's hand, and started dragging him away. 

 

The four of them stood back on solid land, watching the artificial tree slowly slide back into place. When it finished moving, it looked like they'd never gone exploring at all. Ford almost, _almost_ wished they hadn't. 

“So who's pretty much sick of adventuring right now?” Stan asked. 

Fiddleford raised a shaky hand. 

Seandra shrugged. “Yeah, but you gotta admit, we're all total heroes. We just uncovered a secret that literally nobody else knows about! And I got this sweet mace outta the deal!” She hefted the weapon. 

“Cooool, monster blood!” Stan said eagerly. “Can I have some o' that?” 

“Knock yourself out,” she said, tossing it over. 

“Not literally!” Fiddleford said, his voice a little too shrill. “Stan! Come back! _Not literally!_ ” 

Seandra grimaced. “Okay, maybe that wasn't the best move.” She started after them. 

“Wait,” Ford said quickly. “Uh, um, so...” He was sweating, even though the evening was cool. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took them out again. “Look, uh...in the heat of the moment, I kind of said some things, and...” He turned away. “Can we just, pretend that never happened? Please?” 

_This is so stupid, I can't believe I just blurted it out like that, I'm just gonna be another guy she hates..._

He felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. 

“Dude, dude, it's okay,” she said softly. “I always kinda knew.” 

He spun around. “Wait, you _did?_ ” 

She cracked a smile. “Well yeah, man. You think I can't hear that stuff you're constantly muttering under your breath?” 

Ford groaned. He sank down and sat on the nearest moss-covered log. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. He really wished he was wearing a jacket with a bigger collar. And a hood. Maybe he should just wear a bag over his head for the rest of the life. 

Seandra sat down next to him. “Listen, Ford...I'm like, super-flattered, but...I'm too old for you. I mean you know that, right?” 

Ford rubbed his face with one hand. “This is all Stan's fault...I can't believe he pushed me into this...” 

“I already told you, I've known for a while.” 

Ford's cheeks burned. 

“Come on,” she coaxed. “Doesn't it feel at least a _little_ good now that you've told me? Secrets never help anybody. Heck, I've practically made it my life's goal to crack all the biggest secrets in the world. And it takes guts to do that. You should feel really proud of being so brave, you know?” 

“I don't feel brave,” Ford muttered. “Just sweaty, as usual. And nervous. Kinda itchy...” 

She laughed. “Dude, don't be itchy, man. Let me tell you something. This summer was really boring until you guys came along. You're the first person I've met who loves learning and cracking conspiracies as much as me! And if you ever stop being my friend, I would like – throw myself into the Bottomless Pit, you know?” 

“So things...won't be too awkward now?” _You're not going to hate me?_

“I just wrestled myself, dude. _That_ was awkward. If you can handle that monster, you can handle a little awkwardness.” 

Ford faked a chuckle. “...Friends?” 

“Yeah, dude, friends!” She pushed him so hard he fell off the log. He sat up, laughing a little more naturally, and she reached out a hand to help him back up. 

She stood and headed for her bike. This deep into the woods, she hadn't bothered to lock it, just hung her helmet on the handle bars. She strapped it on. 

“Oh hey, Ford. See you for movie night tomorrow. Your place this time, okay?” She hopped on her bike and waved as she pedaled off. 

Ford waved back, then slowly lowered his hand. 

He felt weirdly detached, like he was looking at himself from outside his own body. (In a way, that had actually happened ten minutes ago.) He could see himself thinking about Seandra, thinking about how the log felt under his legs, thinking about how it felt to see her ride off and leave him there, not looking back. It sucked, that's how it felt. It sucked hard. 

“BOOM!” 

“AAH!” 

Ford clutched at his chest. His heart was going a mile a minute. “Einstein's elbows, Stanley! What's the matter with you!?” 

“I'm not the one using scientists to cuss with,” Stan said, hopping onto the log. “Geez, I can't believe this. The _one time_ I don't have a camera with me and you pour your heart out to a girl. You know what I could've sold those photos for?” He held up his hands and moved them apart like he was tracing a banner in the air. “Genius Boy's First Crush Isn't Science!”

“That's not funny.” 

“It's a _little_ funny.”

Ford sighed. 

“Heeey, c'mon.” Stan wrapped an arm around Ford's shoulders. “Look, you should be happy about this. Heartbreak's the hardest part about girls. But now that you got that part out of the way, you've got something better than a girlfriend: you've got _experience._ ”

“Who exactly do you think you're fooling here?” 

“Work with me bro.” 

Fiddleford stepped out of the bushes, trembling all over and carrying Seandra's mace with both hands. 

“C-c-can we g-go home now?”

“Yeah, whatever. Oh! One second...” Stan reached into the nearest bush and hauled out a large black suitcase. “Tada! Here, Ford, you can pack all your nerd stuff in it! Happy Crush-iversary!” 

He dropped it so hard on Ford's legs he yelled in pain – and the suitcase popped open. Ford pushed back the lid and gasped. 

“Omigosh, Stanley this is a _laptop!_ ” 

“Really? I thought those weren't invented until like, last year or something.” 

Ford touched the dusty surface reverently, then quickly brushed the dirt and grime away. “Amazing...I bet all the parts are still functional, I bet it belonged to the author, this is so huge, we found the biggest lead since – oh my sweet apple cider what am I doing?! This thing could've had the author's fingerprints on it and I just dusted all of them away!” 

“G-g-guys, it's g-getting d-d-d-da-dar –”

“Uh, Ford, your nerd is broken.” 

“Right, right.” There was a label over the screen of the laptop that read “Property of C”. Who was C? Was that a nickname? Was it Bill Cipher's initial? Of course – Bill would know who the author really was, but maybe this laptop would finally have the clues that would unlock the location of the other two journals! 

“Ford,” Stan snapped. 

“What!” He looked up. Fiddleford was pale and sweaty and had the posture of a small cornered bunny rabbit. Ford winced. “Okay, okay. Look, Stan, can you take Fiddleford home? I've gotta work on this thing like, _yesterday._ ” 

Stan stood up. “Whatever keeps you from doing that sad mopy thing you do. C'mon, Fidds, I'll take you home.” 

Fleetingly, Ford thought he should get the mace from Fiddleford and give it back to Seandra. Then just as quickly the thought flew out of his brain. He couldn't believe his luck – he'd actually found what had to be the author's laptop! 

He stood up quickly, tucked the laptop under his arm, and started jogging back to the lab. Who needed heartbreak, anyway? Imagine what he could learn once he cracked the author's greatest secrets! 

_Nobel Prize, here I come!_


	4. Into the Bunker Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIII! So I'm putting some warnings in now: mention of weapons (actual weapons used in Gravity Falls on TV), plus child abduction. It sounds worse than it is, but I want to forewarn all the sensitive butterfly souls out there, 'cuz I'd want a polite warning for this stuff, myself. 
> 
> Anyway, developing PTSD, drama, action, and danger abound. Enjoy!

Fiddleford wouldn't stop shaking. 

“Dude, chill,” Stan said. They were walking down the street towards the Town Square. “You've seen monsters before, right? It's not like it was gonna eat your face or whatever.” 

“Why bother?! It was _wearing_ my face!” Fiddleford laughed shrilly. He was starting to hyperventilate. 

_Ugh, if he passes out on me I am not carrying him home._

He grabbed Fiddleford's arms and practically shoved him down on the steps of the nearest building. “There. Now siddown, put your head between your knees, and don't even think about throwing up.” 

Fiddleford obeyed, still breathing raggedly. “How can you stand it?” he gasped. “Knowing that – _thing_ is out there, that it could get loose, it knows my face, it could find us and kill us and take our places and no one would even know –”

“Excuse you, pal, I'm irreplaceable.” 

“And it's not the only thing out there, is it?!” 

“Dude –”

“Those zombies couldn't think, they couldn't reason, were mere parodies of life! There was nothing left of the people the used to be – and they all wanted to eat our _brains!_ ” Fiddleford raised his head. His face was a nasty mix of green and purplish bruises. 

Stan winced. _Dang, that thing really did a number on 'im._

Fiddleford's voice grew shaky. “And then – then there was the Gremloblin –”

Stan grabbed the back of Fiddleford's head and forced it back between his knees. The nerd had some real lung power, with how loud he'd been talking just now. Not that Stan was worried about being overheard. The town square was deserted this late at night. The longer Fidds talked, though, the more he was working himself into a panic. Had to shut the poor kid up before he really _did_ pass out. 

He kept his hand there until Fiddleford rested his head on his knees. Then Stan noogied him gently and took his hand away. 

While Fiddleford hiccuped and tried to breathe normally, Stan lay back on the cold marble steps and looked up at the stars. 

“The _Banjo's_ out tonight,” he said finally. “And the _Dollar Sign_. Plus, y'know, all the normal constellations.” 

Fiddleford snorted into his knees. 

They hung out in silence a little longer. Fiddleford's breathing quieted down. Stan could hear insects and the wind and a weird rhythmic shuffling noise. Probably a cat that had scored a Nappy Meal from the dumpster or something. 

“I don't know how you stand it,” Fiddleford repeated quietly. “Knowing what's out there.” 

Stan shrugged. “Most of that stuff's punchable. It's like a video game.” 

“Not to me.” Fiddleford took a shuddering breath, his head still on his pressed to his knees. “I don't know... It's just, knowing what's waiting out there...I think it'd be better to just –”

Something grabbed Stan's arm and yanked him to his feet so hard his shoulder cracked. 

“Ow! HEY!” 

“ _Silence!_ ” 

Stan's head jerked up. He was surrounded on all sides by medieval monks with symbols on their hoods like an X'd-out cat's eye. The one holding him was squeezing his arm so tight he couldn't feel his fingers. He heard Fiddleford squeak and knew they'd gotten him, too. 

“Lemme go, you Round Table wannabes!” Stan shouted, lashing out with his fists and feet. 

“Hold still,” someone said gruffly, gripping his other arm. His hand was rough and calloused. 

Stan bit it. 

The guy howled and let him go. 

“Hold him still!” 

“He bit me! He bit me!” 

“Just get the back on him!” 

“Stanley!” Fiddleford shrieked. His voice was getting farther away – like he was being carried into the huge cavernous building behind them. “ _Stanley!_ ” 

“Hands off!” Stan shouted, and he smashed his captor's foot with his heel. The man yelped but didn't let go, so when another monk came at him with a burlap sack, Stan twisted, grabbed the guy holding him with his free hand, and lifted both his back feet into the air. He delivered a donkey-style kick that made all donkeys in all of history jealous. Burlap Sack guy didn't even make a sound as he went down, clutching his stomach. The one still holding Stan grunted in surprise, loosening his grip. Stan tore away and shot between two monks. More closed in on him and he ducked under their arms, rolling to his feet. 

Now that he was outside the circle, he could see there were maybe seven or eight of them – and two of them were dragging Fiddleford backwards into the History Museum, the scrawny geek struggling uselessly in their grip. 

“STANLEY! _STANLEY, HELP ME!_ ” 

“Hey losers!” Stan scooped up a rock and took aim – 

And so did one of the monks. He had a gun. 

It was like being in a nightmare. Everything seemed to slow down to the speed of cold molasses except his brain, which churned at a million miles a second. But as hard as he screamed _GO GO GO!!!!_ his body barely moved. 

He saw everything in perfect clarity. The rough texture of the monks' cloaks, the sweat standing out on Fiddleford's forehead, the glint of starlight on the gun. 

The monk holding it was five yards from Stan – too far for him to try lunging for the gun and wrestling it away. There were three other monks right there. Maybe he could dodge behind one of them – but who knew what they all had in their cloaks. Maybe they were all packing. Maybe they were butt-naked with katanas strapped to their backs. 

But maybe, _maybe_ it wasn't a gun at all. It definitely didn't look like anything he'd seen on TV. It had a clear plastic shield and a long lightbulb instead of a barrel. What was it supposed to shoot? Lightning? Radiation? Disco lights?! None of those sounded good. 

_RUN!_ he mentally screamed at his body. _RUN, RUN, RUN!!!_

Too slow, he was too slow and he saw the finger flex and heard the small almost-gentle click and the lightbulb light up with a flash – 

 

He blinked. 

“Ughhh, someone make the earth stop spinning, I wanna get off.” 

He sat up carefully, leaning back on his elbows. He looked around. 

“The heck...?” 

It took him a minute to recognize where he was. Town Square, right? There was that stupid statue of Nathaniel over there in front of the History Museum. 

He frowned at the building. There was something about it he didn't like. 

He got up. For some reason his arm really hurt. He rubbed it absently. He was kind of cold. What was he doing out so late, anyway? And _man_ did his head hurt! He felt around his scalp. Yep, there was a good-sized egg developing where it had touched the ground. Maybe he'd fallen and gotten amnesia? But wait, why would he fall on his _back?_ That made zero sense. 

“Maybe I was hitting my head against the statue?” Stan wondered aloud. Yeah, that sounded like something he'd do. He'd break his record for hitting his head _and_ make the statue crack at the same time! (It didn't look cracked, but his head sure was, so it was the same thing.) 

He scrubbed at his face. “Man, I didn't even get a video of me doin' that. Dang it, now I don't know if I broke my record or not. Oh well – better try again tomorrow!” 

He turned and hustled for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT HAPPENS TO FIDDLEFORD NEXT GUYS.


	5. Bowling Battle

Ford sat on Mabel's chair in the living room, his feet resting on Gompers' back, feeding himself cereal with one hand. (He'd poured a bowl for Gompers to keep him from chewing on Ford's breakfast.) The TV was on, but he wasn't really watching. All of his attention was focused on the notebook in front of him. Fiddleford was coming by later today, and Ford wanted to have all his notes ready so they could start in on the perpetual motion machine. Bill had said they'd need it as a catalyst that would generate even greater inventions – perhaps even serve as a power source for something that could allow them to explore the multiverse. Imagine the possibilities! 

Mabel walked into the room, an iron skillet in her hand. “Who wants pancakes!” she sang. “They're regular pancakes but I put cocoa mix and chili powder in them for an extra kick.” 

“Pass,” he said absently. There, Bill had said that exponent shouldn't be a variable, Ford would have to double check it to be sure. 

Stan rushed in yelling something about something. Honestly, couldn't people see that he was trying concentrate? 

He bent closer to his notes, studying his math. No, no, he'd skipped a step there, but his calculations were close enough for – 

_Whack!_

“Ow! What was that for?” Ford asked, rubbing his head. 

Stan waved the rolled-up newspaper. “For being a nerd-bot, duh! Now _check it!_ ” He held up the paper for him and Mabel to see. 

Mabel leaned closer. “'Preston Northwest Declares Stripes Out of Style.' Wait what're we lookin' at here?” 

“Whoa whoa what?!” Stan flipped the newspaper around. 

“What was it supposed to be?” Ford whispered. 

Mabel whispered back, “Stan made a World's Best Preteen Boxing Competition and entered himself as the only contestant.” 

“Ugh, I can't _believe this!_ ” Stan crumpled up the paper and threw it on the floor. “Why does he always buy his way to the front page? Isn't the newspaper supposed to show freedom of the press, not the petty demands of capitalism? Is there no honor among reporters?!” 

“Says the guy who created a competition specifically so he could win it,” Ford said. 

“Hey, I won that fair and square! Not my fault there was a twenty-second entry period!” 

“Aw, cheer up, Stan,” Mabel said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You can make _tons_ of competitions. Plus no one even reads newspapers anymore.”

“Chiquitos!” 

They looked up as Ria burst into the room, full of excitement. 

“Did you hear? Stripes are totally out of fashion now! Ms. Pines, do you think I'll need a new uniform? The question mark is basically one big stripe!” She looked at Stan. He was wearing his usual white-and-red striped shirt. “You know, we could probably dye it so it would be all red,” she offered. 

Stan groaned and slouched over to the table. 

Ford shrugged and buried his face in his notes again. The others were still talking, but he didn't want to lose his train of thought. There were a few different constants he still had to work out, but he'd picked up some quantum physics last week from an online course. He was pretty sure he could do the math on his own – his memory was perfect, after all – but like Fiddleford said, it was always best to double-check work work. Or maybe he could just let Fiddleford do the double-checking. Yes, that was probably better. He could work out as much of the math as he could on his own, and when Fiddleford got here later – 

Mabel grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the chair. 

“Hey!” 

“C'mon, nerd-bot! We're going bowling!” 

“Bowling?” _Where did that come from?_

Stanley grabbed Ford's other arm. “That's right, Sixer! We're gonna wear other people's ill-fitting shoes and stick our fingers in small grubby holes used by the same kids that pick their noses!”

“Ew!” He tried to pull away. “Stanley, I have work –”

“NOT ANYMORE!” Stan shouted, and they dragged him out the door.

 

Stan walked into the Bowling Alley, followed by Mabel, Ria, and Ford, who still had his nose stuck in a notebook. The Alley was one of the few places in the whole town that looked brand new. It had twelve lanes, each painted a different color; TV screens that kept score and actually worked; ball shoots with cool-patterned balls (and a couple balls that looked like they were burning eyeballs, which was both creepy and cool.) There was a pizza place inside and a bunch of soda machines against one wall. Even the lobby was nice and neat. The guy who worked there, Lefty or whatever, he always seemed to keep the floors glossy and the shoes didn't even smell that bad. 

Stan grinned. That would change _real_ soon. 

“This place is amazing,” Mabel said as they got their shoes. “I can't believe I don't come here more often!” 

“Yeah!” Ria agreed. “I forgot how much bowling pins resemble a woman's silhouette. When I knock them all over, it is as if I am symbolically challenging the prescribed notions of women's roles in society.”

“Plus it's neat!” Stan said. He nudged Ford, who still had his nose superglued to a book. “Hey nerd-bot, isn't it neat?” 

“It won't be neat if you keep bumping me,” Ford said irritably. 

“What's with you? We love knocking stuff over for fun!” 

Ford pulled away. “No, _you_ do. And I have work to do, if you haven't noticed.” 

“Aw, c'mon, Ford, get into the spirit!” Mabel encouraged him. “Here, I signed us up. You wanna go first, Stanley?” 

“Yeah!” 

The place was packed, but they'd gotten a good lane with no dents in the floor, close enough that Stan could smell the pizza cooking. He smiled to himself. If he bowled great, he'd win, and if he lost, he could guilt Mabel into buying pizza. Either way, this was gonna rock!

He grabbed a ball the color of snot and hurled it at the pins. The ball bounced crazily and actually dented the lane, but still managed to hit all ten pins at once. 

“Whooooa!” Mabel grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Stanley! Stanley! You got a strike on the _very first try!?_ ” 

Stanley grinned. “It's easy! All you gotta do is imagine the pins have Preston's face on them.” 

“You break the lane, you buy the lane,” Lefty grumbled, walking past them. 

“It was like that when we got here!” Stanley called after him. “Hey, you think we could use a different lane? This one's got a dent in it!” 

Lefty grumbled but let them switch. Ford settled in on the couch and Stan revved up to take another shot. Mabel showed him how to roll the ball – which was way easier than throwing it – and pretty soon he was knocking out eight, nine, ten pins at a time, every time. Mabel and Ria were, of course, awed and amazed.

And, apparently, so was everybody else. The longer Stan bowled, the more people came to watch. Stan grinned and flirted shamelessly with women ages nine to ninety. They ate it up and cheered for more. His arms didn't even get tired. He just bowled and bowled and bowled, and pretty soon their lane was practically surrounded by almost everyone in the building, all looking at _him._

“This is incredible!” Ria said, looking up at the TV screen. “If he gets this one, he'll have bowled _six perfect games in a row_. He'll get his name up on the wall in gold plating!” 

“WHOOO!” Mabel shouted. “GO STAN THE MAN! BOWL THAT BALL!”

Stanley couldn't stop grinning. Mabel was right, there really were other competitions! He was a one-man race against a record nobody else could beat. 

He went over, grabbed the nearest ball, and lined up to bowl. He swung his arm back – 

“Watch it, freak.” 

– and let go, but the angle was all wrong. He turned around before the arc was complete, and he could hear it land right in the gutter. The crowd awww'd and shuffled away, disappointed. 

It was Preston. 

The stupid multimillionaire was moving past their lane, his butler dusting Preston's shoes as he went. 

“Honestly,” Preston was saying. “I don't know why the riffraff can't keep their poor people germs to themselves. How do they expect to better themselves if they don't worship the ground I walk on?” 

Mabel's face twitched. “You know, sometimes I can't believe he's actually serious.” 

Stan looked at Ford. Anybody else might've thought Ford hadn't heard the name-calling. He was still hunched over his notebook, scribbling away, oblivious to the world. But his ears were bright red and he'd put the notebook in his lap with his knees angled up to hide his hands. 

Stan's face flushed. 

“HEY PIMPLE!” he shouted, storming over to Preston's lane. “I got news for you, pal. You just messed up the game of the best bowler in town!” 

Preston was actually slightly shorter than Stan, but he still managed to look right down his nose, so Stan could count all his manicured nose hairs. “Excuse _you_ , Sully, but the best bowler in town has yet to play. Ball.” He extended his hand. His butler drew a large duffle bag from a hidden compartment in the ball return machine. The butler unzipped the back, took out a ball that looked like it was made out of pure gold, dusted it, and placed it very precisely in Preston's palm. 

Preston stepped up to the lane, drew his arm back, and executed a perfect swing. The ball rolled down the lane and hit the pins so precisely that two of them spun out to the lanes on the left and right, knocking down two more sets of pins. The TV screens lit up with the score and the bystanders _ooh_ 'd. 

He smirked. “ _That's_ how it's done. Now go embarrass yourself somewhere else.”

“He'll embarrass himself anywhere he wants!” Mabel snapped at him. 

“Yeah!” Stan said. “Wait...” 

Preston turned to face them, arms crossed. “Well, well. If it isn't the Pines family. Fat, old, lame, freak!” 

“Grauntie Mabel, if I repaint the whole Shack, can I punch him in the face?” 

“I'm seriously considering saying yes.” 

Stan scoffed at Preston. “You know what? You're the real joke in this joint. Your family was a fraud and you're still struttin' around like you earned your million-dollar allowance.” 

“Yes, money _is_ great, isn't it?” Preston sneered. “That's the thing about having it, Sampson – it makes problems go away.” 

“Well it can't buy you skill! You walked into the game of a pro-bowler right here!” 

“ _Real_ ly. You probably just started bowling today, didn't you?” Without waiting for Stan to answer, Preston snapped his hands again. The butler stepped up, one shiny bowling ball in either hand. “This is Butler, my butler. I had his last name legally changed to match his occupation. He just so happens to be a ten-time bowling champion and my personal trainer.” 

“Very good, sir,” Butler said. 

“So if you don't mind moving out of the way of the _professionals_...” Preston took a ball from Butler and stepped back up to his lane. He paused, placed his feet, and swung the ball. This time his aim was so perfect that the pins just kept shooting out to the side to knock out every set of pins in the whole building. All the TV screens showed identical purple and yellow explosions. 

“ _GRAND PRIZE!_ ” they declared in unison. 

The whole place erupted with cheers. 

“Enjoy last place,” Preston said, waving a hand as he walked away. He was instantly surrounded by people clamoring for his autograph. 

“Oh yeah?” Stan called. “Well – I want a rematch, you – you – walking one-dimensional GQ wannabe stereotype!” 

The crowd gasped. 

Preston turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing. 

“Fine. Let's do _this,_ ” he growled. 

Stanley stormed up to Preston, cracking his knuckles. Preston snarled as his butler buffed Preston's nails. They both reached for bowling balls – 

“ _Attention, Gravity Falls bowlers,_ ” Lefty said over the PA system. “ _The Bowling Alley is now closed. Please return your shoes to the lobby. Any shoes not returned are programmed to self-destruct if they are taken outside the premises. Thank you._ ” 

“This isn't over,” Stan said angrily. 

“You. Me. Midnight,” Preston snapped. “We'll see who's the best.” 

“I'll be here,” Stan growled, watching Preston's filthy-rich butt sashaying away. “ _I'll be here._ ”

“...Huh,” Ria said. “Well that escalated quickly.” 

 

It was raining pretty badly when they left the bowling alley. Ford had to stuff his notebook deep in his jacket to keep it from ruining his work. They ran for Ria's pick-up truck. 

“Whew, I'm beat,” Mabel said, slamming the door closed. 

“Can we go eat some food?” Stan asked, hopping in after Ford. “Like, real food. Edible food. Food that other people would also find edible.” 

“I guess I can spring for a night out,” Mabel said. “You _do_ need your strength for tonight's big competition. You guys wanna go to Hermanos Brothers?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Wait, what competition?” Ford asked. 

“Uh, _duh_ , me 'n' Preston are having a showdown tonight at the bowling alley,” Stan said, as if this was obvious. 

Ford blinked. Competition? 

“I thought the alley closed when we were leaving.” 

“We're gonna break in. Duh!” 

“Don't you have any other words in your vocabulary?” Ford snapped. “And why didn't you check with me before making plans for tonight? I'm supposed to go meet Fiddleford! We had a whole night of exploring the universe planned!” 

Mabel glanced back at him, frowning. “Y'know, your brother just stuck up for you today, so why is it you're the one acting stuck up?” 

“I am not stuck up, I just made other plans!” 

“It's okay, let's just drop of Ford at the Shack,” Ria suggested. “Then you, me, and Ms. Pines can go get some edible food at reasonable prices, plus all the free napkins we can carry. How does that sound, Stan?” 

Stan mumbled something, but Ford was no longer listening. He'd had a brilliant flash of insight when Ria had mentioned 'free napkins'. That was actually a perfect analogy to understanding the subatomic particles he'd been grappling with. If he was right, he'd be able to mathematically describe the intrinsic nature of inertia at the fundamental level of matter. Wait until Ford heard it – he was going to love it!

 

Stan oozed over the plastic booth like a puddle of despair. He could see the Northwest Mansion glaring down at him like a many-eyed monster...oh wait, no, that was Ford's territory. Math and monsters. Stan knew just fine that he didn't fit into either category, unless you counted punching monsters in the face. 

So...Ford had ditched him. 

And even though bowling was fun, in about two hours, he was probably gonna get shown up by Prince Prissy and his stupid Butler the Butler. 

He heaved a huge sigh. “Welp, time to scrub 'bowling' off my talents list,” he mumbled. “Along with, y'know, everything else.” 

“Aw, don't give up, Stanley,” Ria said, coming back to the table with their food. 

Mabel took Stan's taco off the tray and handed it to him. “Yeah! I mean, if you beat him at this, he can never rag on you again! Imagine it...you're both at the mall. Looking for a hot top to go with those smokin' jeans. And he goes, 'Excuse you, but the frumpy old woman clothes are over there,' and you turn around and go, 'Well excuse you, but the section for people who lost at mini golf is _OVER THERE!_ ' And then two really hot guys come in and go 'Does someone need some ice for that burn?' OOOOH!” 

“Somehow I don't think that translates to my current situation,” Stan said dully. 

“Going to the competition means breaking into the building,” Mabel reminded him. 

Stanley considered this. “It does seem worthwhile when you put it like that...”

“Plus we'll wait outside for you,” Ria said. “The whole night if we have to!” 

He grinned. “Al- _right!_ ” He climbed onto the table and held his taco high in the air. “I just need to practice a little more before midnight. That invisible trophy of superiority shall soon be mine! MUHAHAHAHA!” He threw the taco down on the table so hard it exploded in a shower of tomatoes and cheese. Ria and Mabel clapped wildly. 

 

“Wow, Ford, how long've you been working?” 

Ford looked up from a nest of paper, textbooks, and random pieces of machinery. “Oh, uh, neutron isotopes,” he said blankly. “I mean – uh, not long. Come in, come in, you're just in time. Here!” He handed Fiddleford a piece of paper. 

Fiddleford looked at it. “'Lists of Machines that Can Impress Girls,'” he read. 

“No, no, wait, it was here somewhere – this one!” Ford quickly swiped the old paper and shoved the new one at him. “Look! Remember that stumbling block we had over exceeding the entropic decline of the physical materials of the perpetual motion machine? I think I came up with a formula for creating a metal that will last five times longer than anything currently on the market! The real clue is to use nanobots to make the material self-replicating so it can repair itself over time. Of course you'd have to get the material from –”

“Did you do all this in one day?” Fiddleford asked incredulously. 

“Well...” 

For a split second, Ford debated telling him about Bill Cipher. But...Fiddleford tended to get freaked out so easily. And he'd been so worked up lately, he'd no doubt take it the wrong way. The same way the original author had taken it. He'd treat Bill as a monster. He just wouldn't understand. 

“– yes, I did,” Ford said. “Most of it, anyway.” 

Fiddleford shook his head in amazement. “You're such a smart guy, Ford. Sometimes the stuff you come up with seems straight outta science fiction, but it's brilliant.”

Ford beamed. “You wanna help me double-check my work?” 

Fiddleford grinned right back. “Boy, _do_ I!” 

 

They arrived at the Bowling Alley. Mabel and Ria kept a lookout while Stanley picked the lock. He had about an hour before Preston showed up, and he wanted to make the most of it. 

The tiny metal triggers gave under his hand. The door swung silently open. 

“They even oiled the hinges!” Stan said. “Haha. Suckers!” He started heading in. 

“Oh wait,” Mabel said suddenly. She started digging around the inner pockets of her jacket. She pulled out her emergency sticker album, picked a sticker, and stuck it on his shirt. It was a really stupid cheesy sports sticker with a speeding baseball, reading Home Safe! 

“That's totally the wrong sport,” he told her. 

She grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up. “Knock 'im dead, kid,” she said. 

He gave her a thumbs up back, then went inside. 

“But not literally!” she called.

“CAN'T HEAR YOU!” 

Whistling, he sauntered up to the shelves of shoes and picked out a nice pair with red stripes on the tops. Who said stripes were out of style, anyway? 

 

_Strike!_

_Strike!_

_Strike!_

Over and over, Stan knocked down all ten pins at once. But no matter what he did, he couldn't get the pins to do that spinny trick that had them knocking down pins in other lanes. He'd found something he was really really good at, even playing by the rules and everything, but it wouldn't matter if he couldn't beat Prissy. 

Angry, Stan sent the next ball shooting towards the pins so fast it actually cracked one. The sound of them falling echoed through the hall. He jumped and looked around, but of course nobody was there to hear.

“Ugh, I didn't realize this place could be so creepy with no people in it,” he muttered. 

The lights were all lit, but in the quiet he could hear the hum of the vending machines in the corner. The squeak of his shoes on the polished wood was so loud and shrill it felt like it was piercing his eardrums. Even the muted clicking of the pinsetter sounded as loud as a jackhammer. 

_Ford would love how creepy this is._

“No, no, and no,” Stan said aloud. “I have to much on my mind to worry about what equation he's messing with now. I'm gonna practice, beat Pimple, and bring home my Invisible Trophy of Ultimate Glory!!” He paused. “...As soon as my pins reappear.” 

The pinsetter in Stan's lane suddenly stopped clicking, but no pins were actually set. Stan folded his arms impatiently. He could always switch to a different lane, but it was the principle of the thing. And the principle was that he was annoyed and there was nothing better to do than go stick his nose into a dangerous machine he knew nothing about. 

So he strode down the lane and stuck his head through the opening of the setter.

“Wow it's dark in here,” he said, and then he turned his head and looked up. 

A bunch of mutant glowing marshmallows were climbing over the machinery like tiny noseless koalas. They caught sight of him and froze. 

For a second Stan and the marshmallows just looked at each other. Then they started screaming. 

“AAAH!” 

“AAAH!” 

“ _AAAAH!_ ” 

“ _AAAAH!_ ”

“Okay, done screaming now.” Stan reached up, grabbed one, and opened his mouth. 

“WAIT WAIT WAIT _DON'T EAT ME!!_ ” 

“Yeah but see you're basically a marshmallow and I wanna see what happens if I do. Will my teeth glow? Will my stomach glow? Am I gonna get mutant marshmallow powers? Only one way to find out!” 

Suddenly the lights flicked on and Stan blinked.

“Whoa...” 

The space behind the bowling alleys was way cooler than Stan had ever imagined. (Mostly because he hadn't bothered to imagine it at all.) Each alley had a pinsetter behind it, and behind all the pinsetters was a giant computer like the thing they'd found in the bunker. Except _this_ computer also had what looked like a miniature built-in city underneath it, with little marshmallow beds and cafeterias and a whole lot of staircases. And the whole big computer-condo complex was divided up by color, one for each lane, with a bunch of little marshmallows in each of them. The little guys were all the same color – a puke-y neon green – but they wore belts or armbands to show which colored lane they belonged to. 

Several of them opened their mouths to scream. 

Stan held up the marshmallow guy threateningly. “If you start screaming I can and will eat him.” 

“Aw, geez, 618, did you get caught _again_?” 

He turned. Stan was in a yellow-colored lane. The voice came from the magenta lane next door.

A bunch of other Magenta marshmallows groaned and grumbled. 

“Geez, those guys, they're always getting caught.” 

“See _this_ is why you'll never get a turn with Lefty.” 

“Better reset the counter – zero days since we've gone undiscovered. _Again_.” 

The marshmallow Stan had been holding squirmed out of his grasp, jumped to the floor and glared up at them all. “You guys are so full of it. Remind me again who almost got eaten by that crazy goat last month?” 

“Hold up, go back a sec,” Stan said. He pulled himself further into the machine so he could sit down comfortably. “What was that thing about Lefty?” 

The Magentas all stopped talking at once, looking caught. 

One of the Yellows barked out a laugh. “HA! Who's getting caught now, you Magenta morons?” 

“No seriously,” Stan said. “I'm all for watching you guys banter each other to death – if I could sell tickets that'd make a fortune – but what the heck _is_ all this?” 

A marshmallow from the Green lane spoke up. “It's nothing! You're hallucinating! Too many paint fumes!” 

“Really. 'Cuz it looks like you guys are a buncha marshmallows that fell in a vat of toxic waste and developed your own society back here.” 

Magenta sputtered. “Toxic _waste?!_ Our species has developed technology that far outstrips anything you can even dream of! The only reason we're studying you humans is to monitor your progress on the technological ladder so we can eliminate you if and when the need arises!” 

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Remind me again why I shouldn't eat you?” 

Magenta squeaked. 

“Sounds like an 'eat me' to me!” Stan lunged up and grabbed for him, but the marshmallow squished out through his fingers. It was instant pandemonium as he ran around, laughing and trying to catch the little suckers before they got away. 

They weren't exactly helping themselves, either. They all looked the same to him, but apparently they remembered which 'mallow went with which lane, and they were all trying to shove each other forward to get eaten while the rest of them made their escape. After a couple of seconds Stan found himself standing in the middle of the narrow space behind the setters, watching the marshmallows duke it out over who would get eaten. They kicked, bit, punched, and stretched each other like little bits of taffy. 

Stan was _loving_ it. 

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” he chanted. One marshmallow got his fist stuck in another's mouth and the other one bit down on it. Three more marshmallows body-slammed a fourth, then started kicking each other in the face. Stan cheered. 

_BZZZZZZ._

The fighting stopped. 

“What was that?” Stan asked. 

“That's the end-of-the-day bell,” one of the marshmallows said. By the sound of its voice, it was one of the Yellows – the one Stan had threatened to eat. “Now's the time we see whose lane got the highest number of strikes. Whoever does gets control of Lefty.” He pointed. Stan turned around. 

There, curled up in a fetal position against the wall, was Lefty. But it actually took a second for Stan to recognize him, because it turned out Lefty wasn't even a human being at all. 

Lefty was shaped like a human being neatly sliced in half, right down the middle. While the left side of Lefty looked perfectly normal, down to that weird neck mole, the right side of lefty was cut away to reveal a multi-level robot with tiny controls and levers. 

“Lefty's the only way _any_ of us get to leave the building,” said a marshmallow. “Usually whatever lane gets the most strikes gets him the next day.” 

“That's not how it works, we were going in order from left to right.” 

“Speaking of which, we could've built a Righty, but _someone_ wanted to check with Homeworld first.” 

“It was a legitimate drain on our resources and I wanted to get the all-clear!” 

“You wanted to look like a suck-up, is what you wanted. And they let you use Lefty for two whole weeks after that!” 

“Yeah, we should've gotten a turn!” 

“You!? You guys never do _anything_!” 

The fighting escalated, but Stan wasn't really paying attention. A plan was starting to form in his mind. A plan that was awesome, crazy, and probably going to end up in a lot more fighting. 

_Perfect._

“Well guys, today's your lucky day – the benevolent dictator has arrived! I know of one sure-fire way to prove once and for all who should get total control of Lefty!” The marshmallows murmured with interest, and some of them even started bowing when he mentioned the word 'dictator'. He grinned and squatted down. “Alright, here's what you're gonna do...” 

 

Fiddleford glanced over at his lab partner. Ford was snoring in his seat again, his head resting on his hand, drooling slightly. He smiled and shook his head. It was no wonder Ford was so tired. They'd had a crazy couple of days...or, he thought they did. It was a bit hazy, now that he tried to remember it. But with the way Ford was working so hard, it had been bound to catch up to him. 

Fiddleford went to grab the picnic blanket from the trunk of Stan's car. Just as he leaned over to cover him with it, though, Ford's eyes popped open. 

“Well heeeey, if it isn't ol' Glasses!” 

Fiddleford stepped back. “Gosh, Ford, you startled me! I thought you were asleep.” 

“Oh you bet I am! Don't mind me, I'm just sleeptalkin' and a-sleepwalkin'!” 

Ford got up and started pretended he'd forgotten how to walk, stumbling around and bumping into stuff, banging his knees and elbows. 

Fiddleford stifled a snort. “Cut it out, Ford,” he said, grinning. “There's sensitive stuff in here, you know that.” 

“Yeah, that's what makes this fun! Hey, wanna see what happens if we push the oscillator on the Death Ray too fast?” He stumbled over to their half-dismantled machine, which vaguely resembling a canon. 

Fiddleford frowned. “I thought the math indicated that –”

“Whoops!” 

Ford flicked the switch. The Death Ray whirred to life. Red light shot out of the seams in the metal plating. It sizzled with ozone. 

“NO!” Fiddleford lunged forward and flipped the switch off, just as the whole machine hit the critical temperature. For a second he thought he'd caught it in time – then the whole thing exploded, metal nails and bits of plating shooting out in all directions. A piece of metal clipped him on the head and he went down, covering himself as best he could. More bits of plating hammered his exposed back and legs. He curled up, trying to protect his face, wishing he'd taken off his glasses. If the lenses cracked, or shattered and cut his eyes – 

“Fiddleford...?” 

He looked up. Ford was sitting in the middle of the lab, a huge bruise swelling on his cheek. He rubbed it absently, looking around. “Did I...hit my head or something?” 

“You nearly blew the lab to bits,” Fiddleford said shakily, getting to his feet. He leaned down to help Ford up. “You looked like you'd fallen asleep, but you got up and started stumbling around like a little wooden puppet. And then you thought it would be funny to crank the oscillator on the Death Ray.” 

Ford looked stunned. “I did...? But – but I wasn't dreaming about that at all...” He let Fiddleford pull him up. 

“Well, whatever you were dreaming about, try not to do it again,” he joked. “C'mon, let's go to the Shack and get some ice for your eye.” 

“My eye? Feels like my cheek got smashed in with a rock.” 

“That's not far off, but something must've got your eye, too. It's red and bleedin' a little. We could do with a break, anyway. And maybe we could scrounge up a couple of goggles, just in case.” 

“Right...I mean, yes, that sounds like wise precaution.” Ford smiled. “But can we talk while we take our break? I just had the _best_ dream about morphic resonance that could be used to test the nature of other dimensions parallel to ours...” 

 

_Clap-clap._

The Bowling Alley lights flicked on. Stanley stood in the middle lane, feet spread wide, hands planted on his hips. He smirked. “Didn't think you'd show up, Prissy.” 

Preston looked him over disdainfully, Butler the Butler following him in. “Waiting in the dark, not creepy at all,” he sniffed. “Honestly, I don't know why you bothered to come. I'm nationally ranked. There's no way someone like you could beat me.” 

Stan grinned wider. “Then maybe you'd like to make the game a little more... _interesting._ ” 

Preston raised an eyebrow. 

“It's easy. Whoever gets more strikes gets to tell the loser what to do for an entire day. AND the winner gets their face on the front page of every newspaper in the town.” 

Preston's lip curled. “I can already get my face on every billboard for miles. And in case you don't read, I decided to grace the Gravity Falls Gossiper with my stunning visage. I can hardly think of a single reason to compete in something so childish.” 

Stan shrugged. “Easy. First part was, you get to tell me what to do for an _entire day._ ” 

Preston considered this. “I suppose I _could_ use a portable seat that I don't have to carry for the golf tournament tomorrow... Alright, Simon, it's a deal.” He snapped his fingers, and Butler the Butler shook hands with Stanley. 

Stan grabbed a ball. “Let's go, Pinocchio.” 

 

The two of them played for an hour straight. Stanley was scoring on actual, honest talent. But every time Preston went to roll a strike, one of the pins somehow wouldn't move, or they'd fall at _just_ the wrong angle, so Preston would only knock down one or two pins at a time and end up with gutter ball after gutter ball. He couldn't even do a regular strike, let alone that weird spin-outside-the-lane thing. 

So, as Stan knew he would, Preston started trying out different lanes and insisting that Stan use other lanes as well. Finally, Preston resorted to using the exact same balls Stanley was using (after Butler had disinfected them). But they got exactly the same results as before. 

Preston was slowly turning redder and redder and his breathing sounded like a strangled buffalo and Stanley was _loving every second._

“That is _it!_ ” Preston shouted, slamming a ball in the ball returner. “Butler! Soda! Now!” 

“Very good, sir.” 

Preston stormed off to the soda machines, Butler trotting after him. 

Stan waited until he was out of sight, then slipped down the nearest lane and ducked inside the pin setter. 

“Man you guys _rock!_ ” Stan said, laughing with glee. The marshmallows cheered. 

“Did you see the part where we only let one pin drop?” asked a Pink. 

“Ha! We didn't even let a _single_ pin fall!” crowed a Blue. 

“Well obviously _our_ team is best because we turned every single one of Preston's rolls into a gutter ball,” said a Yellow. 

Stan snapped his fingers. “Oi! Stay focused here! All that matters is that you make sure _I_ win the contest.” 

“And we're going to win _our_ contest!” 

“No, we are!” 

“No, _we_ are!” 

“Stay focused or no one wins, capiche?” 

Stan ducked back out and trotted down the lane before Preston could come back. 

Yellow A1-3 narrowed his eyes, watching the human scurry away. “I don't like how he was so cavalier with the Pinks,” he muttered. 

Yellow A1-6.4 nodded. “We're always chosen last for Lefty. It's time to ensure that we come in _first._ ” 

 

Preston sat back on the pure white satin coverlet his butler had used to cover the nearest chair. (As if Preston would ever deign to touch his designer clothes to poor people fabric.) 

He checked his phone. No new texts. Not that he should be surprised by now. He snapped it shut. At this rate he wasn't sure he wanted his father to show up at all. He'd just see Preston losing – which wasn't even possible! Northwests _didn't lose!_

“There's something going on here,” Preston growled. “I can feel it. Everyone knows that bumbling idiot is a cheapskate and a liar. He has to be cheating somehow.” 

Butler bowed and placed a soda in Preston's palm. “Perhaps there are small creatures who control the pins' weights and angles of descent, sir.” 

Preston cracked the soda's lid and took a huge swallow. He was so upset he'd forgotten to have Butler disinfect the mouth part. He spat and sputtered. “Ugh! Poor people germs! Get me a different one, Butler!” He hurled the can at the wall. It rebounded and hit the nearest trashcan perfectly. 

Preston sat forward, rotating his wrist. “I don't understand,” he growled. “I'm regionally ranked. I have trophy rooms, _plural_. It's impossible that this lowlife is beating me!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Do you _ever_ say anything else?!” Preston shouted, launching to his feet. 

“There are small glowing marshmallows behind you, sir.” 

“What?” 

He turned. The seat behind him was rimmed with little glowing bug-eyed marshmallows. And then they swarmed over Preston before he could even open his mouth to yell. 

 

Fiddleford turned around and that creepy smile was back on Ford's face. 

“You're somnambulating again, aren't you,” he sighed. 

“Whatever greases your bacon, kid!” Ford laughed and flopped out of his chair, banging his head on the ground. “Awww, what kind of lame prat fall was that? At least gimme a broken nose!” 

They'd gone back to the lab to keep working. Fiddleford had just stepped away to get a screwdriver while Ford worked out a few equations at his desk. He didn't think his friend would fall asleep so fast. 

He shook his head. “Why don't we get you out of the lab for a while? We can always come back and work on this stuff tomorrow. You're almost done with the math, anyway.” 

“Thanks for noticing, Glasses!” Ford spun around in the rolling desk chair. “And guess what? You're done with the energy generator part, so your usefulness is pretty much over! Congratulations!” 

Fiddleford frowned and grabbed the back of Ford's chair before he could spin himself out of it. “Ford, sleeping or not, I don't appreciate being insulted by your subconscious.” 

Ford stood up so fast they banged noses and Fiddleford stepped back, startled. But Ford pressed into his personal space, leering, his smile way too wide, all gums and tooth and gleaming red. “OH THAT WASN'T AN INSULT, GLASSES, IT'S THE TRUTH! BUT HEY, I GOT A NICE PARTING GIFT FOR YA!” 

There was a flash in the corner of his eye and Fiddleford ducked just in time. The hammer swung right over his head and lodged in the wall next to him. 

He ducked away. “Seriously, Ford, wake up and cut it out! That's dangerous!” 

Ford laughed. A harsh, grating sound. “THAT'S THE IDEA! SILLY ME, THOUGH, I FORGOT TO USE THE POINTY END!” He ripped it out of the wall so hard his own momentum drove the hammer's points right into his own cheek. Blood spurted out. 

Fiddleford gasped. “Ford, give me the hammer, you're hurting yours–” He humped back with a yell as Ford took another swing. 

“HAHAHA, THAT'S HILARIOUS! THAT'S THE GREAT THING ABOUT SHARP OBJECTS – THEY HELP YOU GET RIGHT TO THE _POINT!_ ” He grabbed a handful of screwdrivers and wrenches and hurled them. Fiddleford dove behind Stan's car, gasping as he heard them scrape the paint, feeling the impact of the tools rock the vehicle. Stanford might be sleepwalking, but he really meant to hurt him! 

“OH FIDDLE-DEEEE,” Ford sang. Fiddleford could hear him coming around the vehicle, slowly, much too slowly and carefully. “COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!” 

He crouched, waited until he saw Ford's sneakers go to the front of the car, then flattened himself as best he could and scooted under the car's engine. He heard a growl and the squeal of metal on metal, and the car shook. He guessed Ford had just stabbed the door with a tool. 

The sneakers paused, right next to Fiddleford's face. He tried to breathe through his mouth. He didn't know why – he was normally fine with tight spaces – but he was starting to panic, imagining the weight of the car slowly descending, trapping him, crushing him to the ground, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't – 

Ford's face dipped down under the car, so suddenly that Fiddleford screamed. 

“HEY, IT'S MY OL' PAL!” He reached under the car – but his hand was empty, palm up. “DIDN'T MEAN TO SCARE YOU SO BAD THERE, SCRAWNY! WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OUT?” 

_NO HE WILL HURT YOU_ , said the rational part of Fiddleford's brain. He could tell Ford was still sleeping from that horrible grin on his face. But the amygdala of Fiddleford's brain was freaking out and telling him he couldn't breathe and he would die under that car and Ford was the one way out. He took his hand. 

Nightmares flooded his mind, and he screamed. He screamed for a long, long time. 

 

Stanley was getting bored. How long did it take Preston to drink a soda, anyway? Bet the guy couldn't do it unless Butler spit-shined his shoes or something. 

“Ugggh, this's taking forever,” he muttered. He was just about to go find Preston and bother him – maybe flick straw wrappers at his perfect hair or something – when he heard a shrill, very un-heroic scream. 

“GET OFF ME! _GET THEM OFF ME!_ ” 

_Is that...Preston in trouble? AWWW SWEET, I gotta see this!_

He jumped over the purple seating and ran for the soda machine. 

The machine had moved straight up along the wall, so that it was now touching the ceiling, revealing a regular-sized doorway into the backstage techno-weirdness of the bowling alley. A bunch of Yellow marshmallows with matching war paint had tied up Preston right underneath the soda machine, which would no doubt lower itself right back to ground level as soon as somebody hit the 'down' key. Preston would be squished like a grape. 

“STANLEY!” Preston shouted. “GET OVER HERE AND GET THEM OFF ME! YOUR PRESTON COMMANDS YOU!” 

“Oh look, the exit,” Stan said, turning away. 

“HEY NO WAIT WAIT WAIT!” 

“Yeah, hold on a minute!” a Yellow barked. “Look! Killing Preston is way better than just beating him. So clearly the Yellows should get Lefty, right?” 

“Not so fast!” 

Everybody looked. The Blue team had Butler tied down under the pin setter at the far end of the building. “If _you're_ going to play dirty, so are we! This pin setter's on maximum power! How 'bout _that_ , Stanley? Huh? Huh??” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, you realize I barely even registered the fact that Butler existed? I'm not exactly fighting _him_ , here. Also it's going to be pretty hard to keep being Lefty if you kill anybody and this whole place turns into a murder investigation.” 

“We can always move the operation somewhere else!” a Yellow said impatiently. 

“Yeah, right!” The Green team poured out of their lane, looking seriously angry. “The whole reason we picked this town in the first place is because we don't have to use those crummy kill pills. Everybody in this town seems to forget us in like a day. You'd know that if you ever paid attention when it was your turn to be Lefty!” 

“We never _get_ a turn because you guys hog him all the time!” 

“We do not!” 

“You do _too!_ ” 

“GUYS!” Stan said loudly, clapping for attention. “Yeah, hi, can we refocus on me beating Preston's butt?” 

“ _THAT'S_ HOW YOU WERE DOING IT!?” Preston shrieked. “You've been cheating this WHOLE TIME?! I'm so out of here! Where's my Butler?!” 

“We're gonna kill 'im!” Blue Team cheered. 

Stan sighed. This was getting nowhere. “You know what? I don't even care. The whole point was to show up Preston, but you guys can't keep a lid on it long enough to even do that! No wonder you've only got a Lefty and not a Righty. You guys probably started out with a whole robot and just sawed him in half when you couldn't figure out which side should go to which team, didn't you? And I bet one of you blew up the Righty just to sabotage another team.”

There was some very embarrassed grumbling. 

“Thought so.” Stan was thoroughly disgusted. “All your behind-the-scenes pranking power and you waste it 'cuz you can't even agree for two seconds.” 

The rest of the marshmallow teams had come out of their lanes. They were all looking at each other and shuffling their little nubby edges like scolded school kids. It actually felt kinda cool that he'd told them off, and they sitting there listening to him. Like what he said mattered. No wonder Preston liked doing it. 

And then one of the Purples spoke up. “So...if we work together...” 

A Blue joined in. “We could decide who wins Lefty without anybody's help!” 

“Whoever kills Stan gets Lefty!” 

“YEAH!” 

“What? NO!” Stan shouted, but the marshmallows were bellowing so loud they didn't even hear him. They swarmed over the alleys and ran for the exit. He could just grab Mabel and Ria and they could drive off or even use the car to run them over like neon roadkill and – 

“Hey! HEY! HELP ME!” 

He spun around. One of the marshmallows had hit the 'down' button and the vending machine was slowly coming down over Preston's stupid face. 

“UGH WHY CAN'T I AT LEAST RESCUE A CUTE GIRL?!” Stan demanded. He grabbed the nearest bowling balls from the shelves in the lobby and rolled them across the floor, clearing a path as the marshmallows dove out of his way. He ran over and started dragging Preston clear. 

“It's about time you got here!” Preston snapped. “And watch the slacks, they're designer and they're worth more than your house!” 

“Oh hey great I'll just steal them off you and let you die.” 

“UNTIE ME UNTIE ME!” 

“'S what I thought.” 

He pulled the Pimple out and loosened the knots. The front exit was blocked so they tried to run for the side door, but they were only halfway there when Lefty came running out, spouting lasers and weird weapon-looking stuff from his head and hands. 

“Geez, you got a transformers bot now!?” Stan yelped. 

“PREPARE TO BE ANNIHILATED!” 

Stan looked around. They were trapped, surrounded on all sides by a six-foot ring of mutant marshmallows, all holding little glowing rocks. They looked like they were ready to tar and feather him from the inside out. Plus Lefty had all its weapons trained on their faces. This did not look good. He and Preston stood back to back. 

Right next to a ball returner. 

Stan and Preston glanced at each other, shared a Look, and lunged for the nearest balls. They bowled like crazy, hurling and rolling those twenty-pound suckers so hard they dented the floor. The aliens shrieked and scattered, swarming back around Lefty's feet. 

“Watch the floor, watch the floor!” one of them screamed, and Lefty's foot came down with a squelch. 

“ACK!” Lefty shouted. “Hold still you huge sacks of organic carbon!” It aimed a missile at Stan's chest. 

“HIYAAA!” Preston hurled a ball crazily and it collided with the missile point-blank, blowing it up in the middle of the air. The shockwave knocked them to their feet and huge pieces of plaster rained down on them. Stan grabbed Preston's arm and jerked him out of the way as a huge wooden beam cracked and slammed to the ground. 

Lefty stumbled back, arms swinging wildly, firing more weapons. The good part was, marshmallow men were now fleeing the area as fast as they could. The bad part was, off-balance or not, most of those weapons were still heading straight for Stan and Preston. 

The two boys dove and the projectiles shot over their heads, ruffling their hair. Dust and plaster filled the air. Stan covered his mouth and crawled as fast as he could towards the place where Lefty had been standing, hidden under the cover of the dust. He found a bowling ball on the way and grabbed it. 

“STEEE-RIKE!” Lefty shouted. 

Stan popped up. “YOU'RE OUT!” he bellowed, and he swung the bowling ball straight up. It smashed into Lefty's jaw. The head snapped back and popped cleanly off its shoulders. 

The robot was swung around to show the crazy robot innards. Amazingly, the robot was now being operated by marshmallows wearing all different colors of war paint. 

“WE'LL GET YOU FOR THAT!” one of the marshmallows screamed. 

“DEATH TO THE HUMANS!” 

“ _DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!_ ” 

Those little glowing rocks from earlier suddenly filled the air, pinging around Stan's face and neck and shoulders. He covered his arms and stepped back – those things _stung_ – but they were on the floor too and somehow burned straight through his shoes. He yelled in pain. 

“What are you doing?! _Keep moving!_ ” Preston shouted, and shoved Stanley from behind – right into Lefty. 

Neither Lefty nor Stan had been expecting that. Stan fell face-first into the chest cavity, still full of seriously mad marshies and a lot of little rocks. 

“DEATH TO THE HUMANS!” the marshmallows screamed, and Lefty's arm raised to fire. 

“Oh no you don't!” Preston said. He kicked at Lefty's feet and Stan shoved his shoulders. The robot went down like a ton of scrap metal. 

The burning pop rocks were searing little holes right into the wood floor. The smoke drifted up and made them cough. The sprinklers popped out and started spraying. 

“My clothes!” Preston wailed. 

“Lefty!” wailed the marshies. 

“I hate this place!” Stan shouted, and then he noticed a growing heat near his ankles and looked down. 

The little glowy rocks were slowly turning red, and starting to pulse with heat. Stan had watched enough alien movies to know what _that_ meant. 

He grabbed Preston and sprinted towards the side exit, legs pumping for all he was worth. They barely made it out the doorway before the whole place exploded. The shockwave hit them in the backs and slammed them to the parking lot pavement. 

Stan took a minute to make sure nothing was broken. (It wasn't, which was a bummer, because he really felt like suing somebody.) Then he slowly sat up. 

The bowling alley was in bad shape, but the front part actually looked undamaged. He breathed a sigh of relief. That meant Mabel was probably okay. And since the little marshmallow guys had been everywhere, chances are they wouldn't show the security tapes of Stan destroying the building. No cops, no arrest, no jail! 

...also, no trophy. 

He looked over at Preston, who was still lying on the ground like an expensive pancake. Stan poked him. 

“Yo, Prissy. You dead or what? 'Cuz if you're dead I win and I get all your stuff. But if you're alive – no, I still win.” 

Preston sat up, snarling and hitting his hand away. “Get _off_. You know how many chiropractor visits you just undid?! I'm stressed out enough without dealing with – with _this!_ ” He gestured at the bowling alley, which chose that moment to let its roof collapse. 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Puh-lease. That's the beauty of money. 'It makes all your problems go away!'” 

Preston stood, looking down at him coldly. “It does no such thing,” he said icily. “Did you think inheriting money means you just stand there looking pretty? It takes work to keep up an image and _you just ruined it!_ ” 

“Oh shut up,” Stan snapped. “Your stupid Butler's still in there, so unless you drag him out, nobody's going to know exactly what happened and how I saved your butt like, six times. And anyway you were probably just going to tell everybody you won no matter what I did. Everybody knows you practically own the newspapers anyway – you sure buy your way to the front page so often nobody else gets a chance!” 

“Of course I do!” Preston shouted. “My father's constantly overseas doing big business deals. If I didn't get in the paper every week he'd never even see me!” He turned and stalked away to the front of the building. 

Stanley stood up and dusted himself off. He sort of stretched and squatted up and down a few times. Yep, no broken bones. 

_Well_ , he thought. _Alien marshmallows, robots with missiles and Preston with, like, actual feelings. On a scale of one to Ford, this night was definitely..._

 _...Ford._

Stan wished he'd been there. 

Then Stan realized that for a split second there, he could actual _relate to Preston!_

He did a full-body shudder and ran to the front of the building. He just wanted to get in the car, drive home, and maybe pig out in front of the TV for a solid week. 

He turned the corner and stopped short. 

“ _Grauntie Mabel?_ ” 

She was standing there with Ria and – and _Mrs. Northwest_ , both of them laughing and yucking it up with her like they were old friends. The front of the building was still in one piece, so apparently the two of them hadn't noticed the destruction or the suspicious explosion noises. (Or they just thought it was line of Stan's pranks.)

“Oh I _know_ ,” Mrs. Northwest was saying with a smirk. “Honestly, after the first sixty golfing trophies, I was _so_ bored with it.” 

Mabel grinned. “Right?! But if they threw in some flamethrowers, maybe some sparklers – _now_ you're talkin'!” 

They two of them laughed again. Stan caught the look on Preston's face. He was equally mortified. 

_Again? I'm empathizing with him AGAIN!? I need to go home and watch like, a million hours of violent video games until I am properly desensitized to human emotions!_

Stan grabbed Mabel's hand. “Welp! Nice night, yadda yadda, time to go!” 

“See you at the mini golf course next weekend!” Mabel called cheerfully. 

Stan dragged her across the street where Ria was waiting in her truck.

“So how did it go, Stanley?” Ria asked, as they got into her car. This time both Mabel and Stan got into the back. “Did you win the most epic bowling trophy conceivable by the likes of humanity?” 

“Um...something like that?” 

“I'm assuming that tone means you blew something up,” Mabel said, narrowing her eyes. 

“Uh, sure – Preston's expectations! HA HA HA! AMIRIGHT!?” 

Ria laughed. “We knew you could do it, Stan!” 

Mabel punched him lightly in the arm. “Way to go, kiddo!” 

“Haha, yeah.” 

He settled back for the drive home. The seat was pretty crummy and he could feel the little steel springs under his butt. Also some of the cloth was coming off the corner and he could see the yellow foam sticking out. He hunched his shoulders. 

“It was great...but I wish Ford had been there,” Mabel said quietly. “That's what you're thinking, right?” 

Stan shrugged. Now that she'd said it he really wished she hadn't, because now it was what he was thinking. 

“C'mere.” Mabel wrapped an arm around his shoulders and yanked, squishing him against her. And then she noogied him, hard. 

“Ugh! Grauntie Mabel! You smell like pig farts, get off!” 

“And superglue! And formaldehyde!” 

“YES ALL OF THOSE THINGS GET OFF.”

“NEVER!” 

She let go eventually, though, when they were both laughing too hard for her to keep her grip. Then he unbuckled and tried to give _her_ a noogie right on her fez, and Ria pulled over and insisted that Stan put his seatbelt back on, but she'd stopped in front of Crusty Joe's Pizza Crusts and Stan insisted that they get victory pizza with extra-extra cheese and all the greasy meaty toppings he could eat. So hey, if Ford wasn't there, at least he had Ria and Mabel.

 

Ford woke up and everything hurt. His face hurt, his jaw hurt, his elbows and knees hurt. But his face was the worst. He realized he was lying on a cold, gritty surface. 

He groaned and sat up. He was sitting in the middle of the lab – and the place looked like it had been through a tornado. Stan's car was badly scratched, Ford's perpetual motion machine was all but dismantled, and the blueprints he'd made for his future inventions was torn to shreds. His jaw dropped. What _happened?!_

“Fiddleford?” he called, standing up slowly. But his friend was nowhere in sight. 

His cheek gave a particularly nasty throb. He put his hand to his face and felt a hot, sticky mess. He limped over to Stanley's car's side mirror and bent down to look at himself. 

His cheek had a nasty gash in it, not too deep but pretty bloody and messy. Like something had taken an icepick to his skin. He leaned away. The sight of blood made him nauseous. 

“Fiddleford?” he called again. He was starting to get worried. Had a supernatural creature gotten in here? Had it made this mess? Given him this wound? Kidnapped his friend?! The last thing he remembered was working at his desk – and it was the only thing still untouched. Maybe there was a clue as to the creature's whereabouts! 

He rushed over. There was a stack of fresh calculations in the middle with a note sitting on top. 

 

 _HEY IQ!_   
_TOOK OVER FOR YOU WHILE YOU WERE IN LA LA LAND! GUESS WHAT? THE GEEK GOT MAD WHEN I FINISHED YOUR CALCULATIONS FOR YOU! LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE DOESN'T SHARE THE SPOTLIGHT TOO WELL. CAREFUL WHO YOU TRUST!_

 

There was a picture of an eye underneath. 

Bill. It had to be him. But what did 'took over for you' mean? 

Ford picked up the calculations. It wasn't his handwriting, or Fiddleford's. But it was neat, precise, and every bit as brilliant as anything Ford could've thought up. Bill had to have done this – finished calculating the equations Ford had made to test interdimensional travel. 

But how could he have written anything? He didn't have a corporeal body. Unless, somehow...he'd borrowed Ford's?

The thought should've made him uneasy. Instead, as he took another look around the room, he only felt a growing rage. His eyes caught on the perpetual motion machine. Something he and Fiddleford had both worked on – and Fidds had smashed it to pieces. Most of the components were shattered. Luckily, the engine was still in place, although it looked like it needed some moderate repairs. 

Ford stood back, head high, ignoring the cold rock in his gut. His cheek throbbed. So Fiddleford couldn't share glory, was that right? He'd rather sabotage everything they'd worked on together? Fine! At least Bill had shown that he was trying to help by doing calculations. Ford still had _one_ person he could really count on. 

He felt too wired to sleep, so he started cleaning up Fiddleford's mess. It didn't matter how long it took. Bill would help Ford change the world. And _nothing_ was going to get in Ford's way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Bill didn't make a deal with Fiddleford by shaking his hand, because that was just Fiddleford shaking Ford's (possessed) hand, not Bill's actual hand. But it still opened a little tiny door into Fiddleford's mind. Enough for Bill to really traumatize him.


	6. Bowling Battle Short

Cold water splashed over Stan's head. 

“WHAT! WHAT IS IT! I DIDN'T DO IT!” 

Mabel grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hoisted him off the floor, laughing. “Quit squirmin', Stanley, it's me!” 

He stopped flailing and looked around, disoriented. It was the middle of the night, the same night he'd had the match with Preston. He'd fallen asleep on the carpet, curled up in his homemade boat blanket. 

“Mabel, why the heck am I soaking wet?” 

“I wasn't gonna make pancakes at this hour and I needed some way to wake you up! Now come on!” She put him down, grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards the front door. “Hurry, hurry, or you'll miss it!” 

“Unless it's yellow and metallic, I don't care,” Stan said flatly, but she just laughed and pulled him out to the front lawn. 

It was always darker in the forest than it had ever been in New Jersey. Even after living here for over a month, he still wasn't quite used to it. The tall trees kept out most of the starlight, and anyway tonight was super cloudy, so it was really, _really_ dark. He stumbled over a root. 

“Grauntie Mabel –”

“Okay, Ms. Pines,” said a gruff voice. “It's ready to go.” 

Stan looked up. Manly Dan dropped out of the nearest redwood, landing expertly on the lawn. 

“Dan? What're _you_ doing out here?” 

“Dan was cutting trees in the woods yesterday and he found – well you'll see in a minute, but I asked him to relocate it here,” Mabel said. She pointed up at the tree branches, but Stan couldn't see a thing, no matter how much he squinted. 

“So what're we doing and why should I care?” 

“Wait,” Mabel whispered, and sat down on the grass. Manly Dan sat down next to her. Stan climbed up onto Dan's shoulders so he wouldn't have to sit and get his butt wet. 

They waited. 

“Still not seeing the – oh what, now it's raining!?” 

It was. It was drizzling slightly, then a little harder, peppering his face, tip-tapping on the Mystery Shack roof. It would actually nice to listen to...if he was inside. And warm. And _asleep._

He growled a little. “I'm out here to watch the _rain?_ Mabel –”

But Mabel grabbed his face, scrunched his cheeks together and turned his head towards the trees. 

“Watch,” she whispered. 

Stars. There were some stars in the trees, that was all. At least the rain was letting up already. So what? He wanted to give Mabel a really snarky reply, but she was still currently squishing his face. Fine, so what if she wanted to keep him up this late? He'd just be a real grump tomorrow as payback and then...

Wait. Were those stars _moving?_

Mabel grinned at him. “You see 'em, right? Right?” 

Manly Dan suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “ _MANLY DAN!_ ” 

“Awww, Dan, _I_ wanted to do it!” 

The stars moved faster and faster, pouring out of the branches. They darted around in the air and suddenly they formed the words _MANLY DAN_ in little pink and white blinky lights. 

Stan gaped. 

His grauntie laughed. “They're _spelling bees!_ Saw a hive of 'em a few years back. These things'll spell pretty much anything you yell at them, but they only do it in the rain. Check it out! _MABEL RULES!_ ” 

The bees, which had been starting to drift out of formation, immediately snapped to attention. A few seconds of buzzing and the words _MABEL RULES_ glittered in the air, this time made of little purple and green lights. 

“They change color?” 

“Yep! Depending on who says it. Or maybe volume? Try it!” She leaned forward and pumped her arms. “ _Try it! Try it! Try it!_ ” 

“Uh, how 'bout – _KINGS OF NEW JERSEY!_ ” 

The bees whizzed into action and the words blinked down at him in white and red lights. 

“Hey, neat-O! Matches my shirt!” 

“Right? Right? Oh, check _this_ out! APPOGGIATURA!” 

Stan stared at her. “Was that even English?” 

“Not done! LOGORRHEA! PONTIFICATION! OLIGOSACCHARIDES!” 

The bees whizzed from word to word. Their colors seemed to heat up, until they were flashing with brilliant violent and magenta light. Then – 

_BANG!_

Several bees exploded in a shower of gold and green sparkles, which drifted harmlessly through the air and faded away. The dazed, exploded bees fell softly to the grass. Stan picked one up. It was almost like a real bee, stinger and all, except that it had no yellow and black stripes. Just gray skin. 

“Haha, yeeeah, the fuzz gets burned off when they do that,” Mabel admitted. “But it is _seriously_ pretty. Don't worry, they'll be fine in a few minutes!”   
Stan grinned, looking up at the rest of the bees. “Works for me! HEAVYWEIGHT! LEEWARD! AFICIONADO!” 

The remaining bees flew into action, but the words just glittered and sparkled without bursting into fireworks. 

“Heeeey, what gives?” 

“You have to say really hard words,” Mabel explained. “I'm surprised 'aficionado' didn't work, though. How'd you know it?” 

Stan shrugged. “It's what all our teachers call Ford. Hey! I should get Ford out here, he'd know a bunch of fancy words!” He sprang to his feet. “Be right back. Manly Dan, don't let Mabel explode too many while I'm gone.” 

“Aww, c'mooon!” Mabel called after him, but he was already darting around the Shack and across the grass towards the lab. 

He tried to key the lock, but it didn't let him in. He banged on the closed door. 

“Ford, open up!” 

“Go away.” 

That froze him for a moment. Then he glared at the door. “I _said_ , open up, Ford! And you can't change the password on the lab without telling me! Now come _on!_ ” 

“I _said_ , 'Go away!'” 

Stan kicked the door. “OW! What the heck, Ford?! You didn't come watch me beat the pants off Preston, which I totally actually did, and you locked me out and you're not even _talking_ to me?!” 

The door opened and a very angry, mussed-up Ford stood glaring at Stan. “Door's open. Happy? Password's 'HMS Beagle.' But I _will_ change it if you don't leave me alone. I've got enough work to do without you messing everything up, too!” 

That stung. 

“You know what, Ford? Forget it. Go do your stupid little nerd thing. Just forget it.” He turned and stomped away. 

Ford didn't come after him. 

_Well...well FINE! Who needs 'im anyway. I'm just gonna go grab a dictionary or something and blow up as much stuff as I want._

He heard a distant explosion and knew Mabel was probably already doing just that. But suddenly he kind of wasn't in the mood for explosions anymore. He slowed down. Maybe he should just sleep with a dictionary under his pillow. Absorb it in his sleep or something. If he was smart and knew big words, he'd blow up so many bees they'd make a rainbow. And maybe Ford would...

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Stan?” 

Stan went rigid. “ _What_ ,” he spat. 

The hand went away. “Look...what did you want to tell me?” 

Stan glanced over his shoulder and paused. “Hey...what happened to your face? You look kinda...banged up.” 

“Um...science.” Ford shoved his glasses further up his nose. 

“You are a _terrible_ liar.” He grinned, grabbed Ford's hand, and dragged him across the lawn, ignoring his protests. “HEY GRAUNTIE MABEL!” he shouted, just to get her attention. The bees, however, thought he was shouting at them, and immediately formed the words in deep red and pink lights. 

Ford's jaw actually dropped. He looked so goofy Stan burst out laughing. 

Mabel waved at them. “Guys, get over here! Manly Dan says he's got a really good one!” 

Dan looked up. “BETULA PENDULA! SKOOKUM! _ANKYLOSING SPONDYLITIS!_ ” 

The bees turned green on the first word, yellow on the second, and by the third one they were pulsing from blue to white to orange. Several of them immediately exploded, showering the air over their heads with streamers of brilliant red sparkles. 

Ford reached out a hand and caught a sinking bee. “That's amazing...what are these?” 

“Spelling bees!” 

He rolled his eyes. “Of course they are.” 

“Go on, go on!” Stan got behind him and shoved him closer, then made him sit next to Mabel. Stan leaned on Ford's head. “C'mon, Sixer! Tell us all the big words you know. We wanna see a killer light show!” 

“So I'm just a walking, talking dictionary, now?” Ford asked, but he was smiling. He shoved Stan off (who keeled over, laughing) and leaned forward to look at Dan. “How'd you know all that stuff, Manly Dan?” 

Dan grunted. “One's a tree. 'Nother's sort of the same as Manly. Third one's from my grandfather.” 

Ford winced. “Yikes.” 

_YIKES_ , the bees repeated. There were a few of them that looked close to popping, and they made the word appear shaky and watery. 

“Duuuude!” Stan grabbed Ford and shook his shoulder. “Say the word thing! _Do it! Do it! Do it!_ ” 

Mabel joined in. Even Manly Dan was nodding in time to the chant. 

Ford turned red and ducked his head, same as he normally did when put on the spot. Stan laughed and gave him a noogie. Man, his brother was so _predictable_. In a few seconds, he'd raise his head and spout out all the crazy words he knew, because he just loved showing off. And he also loved supernatural stuff. And Grauntie Mabel. Put all three of them together? No way Ford could resist. 

Sure enough, Ford finally looked up and spouted a list of words so long and random Stan wasn't even sure they were real. The bees went out in a blaze of glory, bursting into flowers and spikes and zig-zags of color. Hot yellow, bright blue, deep navy, even some browns and coppers. The sparkles cast multicolored rainbow lights over their faces. Stan turned his face up, laughing, and tried to catch some bee fuzz tongue on his tongue, just for the heck of it. It was like catching flakes of fresh cinnamon in the air.


	7. Sock Opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL KNOW WHAT'S COMING
> 
> Oh - quick trigger warning, some child abuse implied at the very end.

Ford and Stanley sat in a corner of the library, in front of a lemon-yellow stained glass window. Ford grinned. 

“Alright, Stanley, today's the big day.” 

“Big day!” 

“Ria finally fixed up the laptop” – he pulled it out of his backpack – “and if this thing works, we could finally find out the identity of the author and unravel every last one of the mysteries of Gravity Falls!” 

Stanley cheered. 

The librarian shushed him. 

Ford set the laptop down gently on the table and opened it. He pressed the power key and held his breath. The screen flicked on. A pale green loading bar filled in on the Startup Screen. Ford and Stan leaned in. 

“This is it, _this is it..._!” 

A strange grid filled the screen and spiraled around a circle. The circle multiplied, with the center circle staying in the middle, and four new circles moving to each corner of the screen. The middle center was embedded in an equilateral triangle. A line of text appeared at the top.

_WELCOME._

“Yes, yes! It worked!” Ford grabbed his brother and shook his shoulder with excitement. Stan laughed and pushed him away. They fake-boxed each other. 

“Left punch, right punch, _high six!_ ” 

They slapped hands. 

_BLEEP._

They jumped. The screen suddenly glowed red, and there was a new sign on it: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS – FORBIDDEN. It changed back to green and prompted them for an eight-digit password. 

Ford sighed. “Ugh, of course. A password.” 

Stan grinned and wrapped an arm around Ford's shoulder. “Don't you worry, bro-bro! With your smarts and my laser focus, there is literally _nothing_ that can distract us from...did you hear that?” 

They looked. The Kids Korner had been set up to stage a puppet show, and there was a nice-looking brunette singing a little ditty about literacy as she manipulated two book- and dollar-sign-shaped puppets. She made the puppets kiss as the kids sang along. She laughed a little, flipping her hair over one shoulder. 

“Huh. Anyway, back to –” Ford turned and stopped. Stan was looking at the girl with stars in his eyes. 

“Sixer...I just found my _soulmate._ ” 

“Oh boy.” 

The play ended and the brunette stood up, making her A-line skirt flair and twirl as she bowed. 

“Thank you, thank you!” she sang. She actually made her puppets bow with her. 

Stan grabbed Ford's arm and shook it, not taking his eyes off the girl. “FordFordFord there is my soulmate _right there_ and she has _puppets shaped like dollar signs!_ ” 

“Doesn't that strike you as a bit...unusual, Stanley?” 

“Says the genius who keeps forgetting to 'push' the library door instead of 'pull'.” 

“That's different!” Ford yanked his arm free and went over to the nearest bookshelf. He'd set them up beside the section on cryptography for this very reason. He didn't even need to scan the books – he'd already memorized the whole bookshelf at a glance. “Here we go!” He pulled one out. “Okay, this book says there are over a million 8-letter words. I'll type, you read. Okay, Stanley?” He looked up. 

Stan's seat was spinning because he'd taken off so fast. 

He sighed. So much for that. 

He pulled up his seat, sat down at the computer, and started to work. Stan'd probably be back in a few minutes after another failed flirtation, and Ford wanted to make as much progress as he could in the meantime. 

The computer buzzed at him every time he punched in an incorrect password, but he just tuned it out and went to the next word in the book. He started daydreaming as he typed. He and Bill had been talking last night, after he'd finally fallen asleep. He'd been working on fixing the generator from the perpetual motion machine. It was taking longer than he'd expected to get it back to working order. He'd been eager to rebuild his invention, but Bill had said they could do something even bigger with the generator – something that would change the whole world as they knew it. 

Ford smiled absently. Maybe it would be something amazing, like the way the first rudimentary computer inspired a technological revolution that led to everything from laptops to uPhones. Maybe even an actual portal to an undiscovered dimension, like the weirdness portal mentioned in the journal. Or maybe they'd make something like a machine that could create fresh water out of thin air, like Tesla had done – but unlike Tesla, who languished in obscurity, Bill would make sure that Ford would be noticed, that he and his discoveries would get the recognition they deserved. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have a friend like that, someone who understood him on an intellectual level, who supported and encouraged his scientific pursuits. He thought he'd had a friend like that in Fiddleford, but...

His jaw clenched and he shoved the thought away. 

He heard a loud _fwunk_ and knew Stan had flopped back into his seat. 

“So, how'd it go?” Ford asked, not really paying attention. 

“Sixer, how hard d'you think it would be to write and compose a sock puppet rock opera with lights, original music, and live pyrotechnics by Friday?” 

_BZZZ._

The computer buzzed again and Ford swung around, staring at his brother. “Stanley are you _serious?!_ ” 

“I dunno what happened! Marilyn kept talking about getting into this Julia program or something for preteens and how she'd go out with anybody who could do an amazing sock puppet play and I am practically _guaranteed_ a lifetime girlfriend if I pull this off!” 

“I think you mean Juliard,” Ford corrected automatically. “But what about cracking this password?” 

Stan grabbed his jacket. “Ford, if you help me with this for just like two days and sixteen hours tops then I _promise_ I will help you with the password! Cut me a break here!” He let go of the jacket and clasped his hands, making his finest Puppy Dog face yet. “ _It's for love, Sixer_.” 

Ford groaned, but he couldn't say no. He must be the most gullible scientist alive. “ _Fine._ ” 

“YES! THANK YOU!” Stan launched himself at Ford and swept him up in a rib-crushing hug. “THIS GUY! HE'S NUMBER ONE!” 

“Keep it down,” the librarian snapped. 

“Let's get out of here before she bans me again,” Ford said. (For some reason the librarian had been upset with him for a couple of weeks now – something about not returning library books, which he'd never even checked out.) 

The two of them headed out of the library. Stanley talked nonstop about the kind of rock opera he wanted to make. 

“Okay okay, I get it,” Ford said impatiently. “Let's just hurry up and do this, okay? I wanna get back to the laptop. I'm close to something _big_ here, I can feel it.” 

 

Stan had never worked harder in a million years – and he wasn't even that old! 

First thing he did was do a used sock drive where he charged people 10 cents to donate their used socks to a local charity. (The local charity was him, but he didn't say, and nobody asked.) Then he ransacked Mabel's closet and bedroom for craft supplies. She caught him at it and was pretty mad until he explained what he was doing. Then her whole face lit up. 

“Yes! YES! Did I ever told you I wrote my own off-off-off Broadway play starring myself and co-starring an adorable hamster?! I bet we could even get Fiddleford to rig up the special effects!” 

Weirdly, they hadn't been able to get ahold of Ford the Sequel anywhere, but Ria got in on the action and promised to make all the props. He put Ford to work writing the actual play – which basically meant stealing Ford's journal and copying out all the gooey romance stuff he'd written about Seandra and plagiarizing every line for his script. Add in a couple of mutant krakens and a big pirate ship, and the thing was as good as gold!

By the time Thursday rolled around, Mabel's living room carpet had been semi-permanently covered in beads, sequins, scraps of cloth, and glittery vomit (from when Gompers tried to eat a vial of the stuff and hacked it up immediately). 

Stan sat in the room with Seandra, Ria, Ford, and the goat gobbler himself. Seandra was drying out a bunch of fresh sock puppets with a hair dryer, Ria was painting one of the background props, and Ford was slowly cutting his own shirt off. (Ford had been aiming for the sock puppet in his hand, but he was so tired from staying up with his laptop he couldn't see straight. Stan found this hilarious.) 

He grinned. “Alright guys, the play's gonna be called: 'Glove Story – a Sock Opera!'” 

Ria nodded. “Nice.” 

“Just a warning, people's eyes will get wet. Because they'll be crying! Both because the play is awesome...and because of the retina-scarring fireworks we'll set off at the end of the play!” 

“Isn't that like, a fire hazard?” Ford mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

Seandra smiled. “C'mon, Ford. You just gotta roll with Stanley's craziness! It's like working for Mabel. It might be totally obnoxious, but hey, you're never bored!” 

Stan pounded out a rough melody on Ria's electric keyboard. “Mari-lyn, Mari-lyn, I will win your –”

“ _Heeaaarrrt,_ ” they all sang together. 

Mabel stuck her head in, beaming. “Now _that's_ some quality songwriting!” 

 

Stan actually brushed his teeth without being asked that night, since he had to be extra-irresistible tomorrow. Then he flopped into bed, surrounded by sock-versions of all the townsfolk. He'd gotten Mabel to do the ones for him, Marilyn, and Ford. He grinned and scooched the three of them together next to his pillow. 

“Perfect!” 

_BZZZ._

“Ugh, wrong password! Wrong, wrong! UGH!” 

He looked over at Ford, who was sitting on his bed in a nerd nest of crumpled-up paper and books. “Dude, how many nights are you gonna stay up? You're gonna end up gnawing on pencils again and I am _not_ pulling splinters outta your mouth.” 

Ford spat out the pencil. “Just a few more tries,” he said, rubbing his eyes. 

Stan shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat!” 

He rolled over onto his stomach and shut his eyes, burying his face in his pillow. Now way was he gonna have those freaky nightmares tonight. He was less than 24 hours away from impressing Marilyn and rocking that show so hard she'd practically marry him on the spot. 

He smiled into his pillow. _Take that, Cupid! Stan Pines is about to make romance happen!_

 

Stan's snoring was so loud Ford had moved his code-cracking to the ledge on the roof. He sat with his feet dangling over the side, the laptop on his lap, typing every single eight-letter word he could think of. By now he'd tried thousands of words and not one of them worked. What if the word wasn't even spelled correctly? He could be at this forever! 

_BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!_

“UGH! I can't take that sound anymore!” He stabbed angrily at random keys. “ _I...hate...you...sound!_ ” 

He yawned. It was so late, but he didn't want to stop now. He'd already put so much time and effort into this that it would drive him nuts to think it had all been wasted. He rubbed at his eyes. 

“There has to be some shortcut or clue...who would know about the author's secret codes...” 

An eerie wind suddenly blew threw the clearing, a gust so strong it slammed the laptop shut. Ford shivered and pulled his jacket tightly around him. The weathervane squeaked and the air seemed to stroke his cheek with icy fingers. He shivered harder and stood up, the laptop tucked under one arm. What _was_ that? Some kind of wind monster or something? 

The moonlight flickered and he spun around. In the sky, the moon rotated like a giant eyeball, rolling down to show a familiar slitted pupil. Blocks of light spun towards the eye and Bill's body solidified with a flash of light. 

“I THINK I KNOW A GUY!” 

Ford relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. “Bill! You startled me.” He smiled. “I guess I must be dreaming again, huh?” 

“YIKES! YOU SURE I'VE GOT THE RIGHT TWIN? I'M LOOKIN' FOR THE SMART ONE, GOES BY STANFORD PINES!”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Har, har.” 

“HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN A COUPLE OF DAYS, FORDSY! GUESS YOU'VE BEEN BUSY WORKING ON THAT PERPETUAL MOTION GENERATOR. HATS OFF TO YOU!” Bill took off his hat – and the whole world tilted with it. Ford yelled as he went stumbling back over the ledge of the roof, about to fall off. Then Bill put his hat back on. The world righted itself and Ford sat down with a thud. 

“Geez, Bill, warn me before you do that!” Ford said, laughing as he got up. He held out the laptop. “Guess what? I've been making plans for what to do with the generator once it's fixed! I thought hey, wouldn't it be neat to punch a whole right through the fabric of space time and see what's on the other side?” 

“WOW, I HADN'T THOUGHT OF ANYTHING LIKE THAT!” 

“Right?! Think of all the cool stuff that could be on the other side! I mean –” He grinned. “I'm sure you already _know_ what's over there...” 

“ _OH_ YEAH! YOU WOULD NOT _BELIEVE_ THE PARTY ANIMALS IN DIMENSON ^ &!” 

Bill snapped his fingers and a huge red monster appeared next to him. Its ear fell off, hit the ground, and grew eight humanoid arms. It scuttled straight up the side of the Shack, drooling earwax. Ford yelled and leaped back. Bill just laughed and popped the ear into his bowtie like he was eating a nacho. Another snap of his fingers and the monster disappeared. Bill cackled. 

“Haha,” Ford said, quickly regaining his composure. “Right, well...maybe not _that_ dimension...but wouldn't it be amazing to explore the multiverse, to prove to the world that it really exists!” The grin faded from his face. “It's just...with Fiddleford gone...I know I _could_ figure out how to build the machine on my own, but it would take much longer than the rest of the summer to do it. So I thought, maybe the laptop would have some ideas –”

“DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE LAPTOP, IQ! YOU JUST GET THAT GENERATOR RUNNING AND LEAVE THE REST UP TO YOUR OL' PAL BILL!” 

Ford managed a smile. “Thanks for being so patient with me, Bill.” 

“SURE THING, KID! NOW WAKE UP BEFORE YOU FALL OFF THE ROOF. I'M GONNA NEED ALL THOSE LIMBS IN RELATIVELY FUNCTIONAL CONDITION!” 

“Haha, what?” 

Bill snapped is fingers and Ford woke with a jolt – right as his sleeping body slumped too far over the laptop. He yelled and pinwheeled, but one leg slipped right off the roof. There was a lightning-fast second of pure panic and grabbing for the roof and then Ford found himself flat on the roof tiles, breathing hard, not quite sure how he'd managed to pull himself back up.

He sat up with a shaky laugh. _Geez, good thing Bill was looking out for me!_

He looked down at the laptop, still smiling. He couldn't let Bill down. He'd go inside, grab some breakfast, and keep working. Maybe Bill didn't think he was ready for whatever he had planned after the generator was fixed. But Ford was confident he could show Bill just what he could do. A few more hours, and he'd crack this pesky password without even breaking a sweat! 

 

Stanley leaned over the table and shoved the Mabel-puppet in the real Mabel's face. “ _Hi, Grauntie Mabel! Who's the most datable twin?_ ” 

“That's...de- _datable,_ ” she said, and they burst out laughing. 

He looked over when his brother came into the room, heading straight for the fridge and rubbing his eyes. 

“Yeesh, kid, do I need to get out the formaldehyde and cinnamon?” Mabel asked. 

“Aw, dude, I _told_ you to get some sleep last night!” Stan scolded him. “Look at you! Your eyes are really – whoa, hey, are you _bleeding?_ ” 

Ford looked at his hand in surprise. He'd been rubbing his right eye and his fingertips were smeared with blood. “Uh, I think I hit myself in my sleep?” 

Mabel looked concerned. “You know, I don't think you've been sleeping well, even when you _do_ sleep. Maybe you should go lie down or something.” 

“I'm not five, I don't need a nap,” Ford snapped. “I just need to finish – that project I'm working on.” 

Stan got the hint. “Hey Mabel! Is that a barf fairy on the lawn?” 

She leaped to her feet. “I MUST CAPTURE IT AND USE ITS FAIRY DUST TO FLY!” She ran out the door. 

Stan looked back at Ford. “So why are we talking about the laptop in secret? I thought we were cool with Mabel and the whole 'supernatural' thing.” 

“I just don't want to mess this up. Or have her stick it in the box of contraband or something.” 

“You're kidding, right? You can't even get into the thing. It's like the world's most boring nerd video game.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

Stan hopped down from the table and put his arm around Ford's shoulder. “Don't worry, Sixer, today's the day the Mystery Twins are back in action! I'll help you crack that code! I just gotta hand off my puppet stuff to my production crew.” 

“Your what now?” 

Stan led him outside. Ria and Seandra were piling the background props onto the back of Ria's truck. The Halloween kids, Dwayne and Martino, were next to it, each of them holding a huge box filled with sock puppets. 

“Dude, your kraken idea is like... _legendary,_ ” Dwayne said. 

“Also the kissing was _so_ emotional,” Martino added with a sigh. “I wish romances like that happened to all of us.” 

Stanley shook his head, grinning. “Stick with me and they will, kid! Or, y'know, they'll happen to me and you can watch!” 

“Hey guys!” 

They turned. Marilyn skated up to them, her curly brown hair bouncing under her helmet. She had a camera in one hand and her dollar sign puppet in the other. 

A huge grin spread over Stan's face. “Marilyn!” 

“I was just skatin' by,” she said cheerfully, skating to a stop beside them. “Gotta get real-life inspiration for my puppet show. Us real artists _never_ stop working, right, Stanley?” 

“Yup! I mean nope!” Stan nodded repeatedly until Ford flicked the back of his head. “Ow! I was just working on the world's greatest puppet show,” he added, rubbing his head. “It has puppets!” 

Marilyn smiled at him. Ford had to admit she was kind of pretty. “Wow, Stanley, you're _so_ passionate. Hey, I have an idea!” She held up her camera. “Why don't I record your show and you can submit it to the Juliard Pre-Adolescent Program? We could even dorm together!” 

“We could?” 

“I mean –” She laughed. “If your sock opera's actually good. I'd practically _swoon_ for a guy who knows a cross stitch from a single switch!” 

Stan laughed nervously. “Yeah! One's – one's madder than the other!” 

She laughed again and winked at him. “Well, see you tonight, Stanley!” She turned, braced one foot against the ground, and skated off. 

Dwayne was frowning slightly. “Um, is it me, or did she seem –”

“CAN IT!” Stanley pulled a Pitt Soda from nowhere and shoved it at Dwayne. “We gotta up our game and that means SERIOUS CAFFEINE!”

Martino raised an eyebrow. “Chill, Romeo. We gotcher back.” 

Dwayne looked down. “Uh...sure! Also I _maaay_ have spilled some grape juice on a coupla sock puppets...” 

A sudden crash made them turn. Ria had fallen off the pile of props and landed in an awkward heap on the grass. “I'm not okay!” 

Stan grabbed at his hair. “Sweet _Moses!_ Okay, I'm back on fabrication! The cloth kind! Somebody get me the lint roller, a hair dryer and a blender of Mabel Juice!” He grabbed a box of sock puppets and started to dash for the Shack. Ford caught his arm. 

“Wait a minute! You just said you were gonna help me today!” 

“Are you kidding me!? This sock puppet thing just bumped up to a code Seandra! The laptop can _wait!_ ” He jerked away and started picking up the puppets. 

Ford couldn't believe it. “Stanley, do you _seriously_ think your random crush of the week is more important than learning the secrets of the universe? You're obsessed” 

Stan glared at him. “ _I'm_ obsessed? Look at you! You look like that vampire Mabel dated last week! Ew, your eye is bleeding.” 

Ford rubbed it away. It felt sore and that just made him madder. “But you _said_ you were gonna help me today!” 

“'I can help you, Stanford – _with tickles!_ '” 

Stan picked up a sock puppet and tickled Ford with it, going straight for his neck and armpits. Ford laughed even though he didn't want to and finally managed to punch the stupid sock in the face. 

“You know what? FINE! I'll do it on my own!” 

He turned and stomped straight back to the Shack. He'd left the laptop in his room after his dream with Bill. Bill was the only one who even cared about his research. Who needed Stanley anyhow? Ford was just fine on his own!

 

Stanley got all the stuff they'd need to repaint the creases and cracks in the props after Ria nearly crushed them. While Seandra worked on that, he, Ria, and the Halloween Dweebs worked on fixing the socks Dwayne had stained. 

“Whoa, you seen Ford?” Mabel asked, walking up. “Looked like someone stepped on his science textbooks and crushed them or something.” 

Stan looked up. “Hey Mabel, what's the difference between a cross stitch and a single stitch?” 

“One's got a date and the other doesn't,” she said promptly. 

He groaned. “Oh man. This is gonna _suck_ and Marilyn's gonna find a smoking-hot Etsy-shopping boyfriend at Juliard and I'm gonna be a stupid lonely loser for the rest of my life!” 

Martino frowned. “Is that a line from the sock opera? Because it _sounds_ like a line in the sock opera.” 

“Yeah,” Mabel added. “Right before the handsome stripe-shirted hero whisks the lady girl off her feet! Look, Stan, this play is gonna be _great_. I helped you design the special effects myself!” She paused and scratched her chin. “I mean I guess Fiddleford could've rigged up something a little safer...but who cares about fire safety laws in a crowded theater anyway? HAHAHA!” 

“Yeah,” Stan said, perking up. “That just enhances the excitement! Alright guys – Dwayne, you have the smallest, most girl-like hands. You put on this sock puppet while I glue brown goat hair to its face! Marilyn's gonna _love_ that!” 

 

Ford sat in the bay window of the attic, cross-legged on the ratty bench cushion. He had the laptop plugged in and was trying every single eight-letter combination he could think of, this time with numbers. Ugh, this would be so much faster if he didn't have to do this on his own!

“Passwords...passwords...Stan...is... _useless_.” 

_BZZZ_ , the computer responded. 

He yawned, allowing his eyes to slip closed. His right eye was throbbing. He knew he should sleep, just to rest his eyeballs, but he really wanted to crack the code first. If only human beings didn't need – 

“ _Too many failed entries._ ”

He jerked awake. “Huh?” 

“ _Initiate Data Erase in five minutes._ ” 

The computer screen had turned into a countdown – and the words at the top read “ONE ENTRY REMAINING.” 

“No!” Ford grabbed at the screen. “No no no! I'm gonna lose everything? I only have one more try?!” 

Suddenly there was an inaudible vibration in the air, like the boom of distant thunder, and the whole room was flooded with shades of gray. A familiar cerulean flame burst into being over his head. 

Bill sat cross-legged in the air, hands held out, one blue tongue of fire dancing over each palm. “WELL WELL WELL...SOMEONE'S LOOKING DESPARATE!” 

“Bill! Thank goodness you're here – look!” He held up the laptop. 

“YUP, LOOKS LIKE A COUNTDOWN TO ME! OOOH!” He looked excited. “D'YOU THINK IT'LL SELF DESTRUCT AT THE END?” 

“It might as well, it's going to erase all the data on the drive! You've gotta help me!” 

“HMMM...I COULD BE PERSUADED. HOW'S ABOUT YOU HEAR OUT MY DEMANDS?” 

“Demands?” Since when did Bill talk about demands? 

“SURE! ALL I WANT IS A PUPPET!” 

Ford blinked. “A...what?” 

“A PUPPET YEESH! YOU SURE YOU'RE THE SMART TWIN? I MEAN –” Bill leaned back and crossed his legs. “ _EVERYBODY_ LOVES PUPPETS! AND IT LOOKS TO ME LIKE YOU'VE GOT A SURPLUS!” 

Stan's pile of homemade puppets lit up with blue light behind them. 

Ford looked at them, puzzled. “But...what d'you want it for?” 

“ _EVERYBODY_ LOVES – Y'KNOW WHAT? I'M NOT SO SURE YOU'RE THE SMART TWIN.” 

Ford frowned. “But those aren't even my puppets, they're Stan's!” 

“THAT JUST MEANS YOU'VE GOT NOTHING TO LOSE, STAN DOES!” Bill floated closer, his bowtie unfolding into a TV screen. “BESIDES, WHAT'S STANLEY DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” 

Scenes of their summer flashed by on Bill's screen. The time he'd rescued Stan from the gnomes, even after Ford had tried to warn him way before Stan was kidnapped... The time he let Stan keep his smelly goat, watching Seandra walk off arm in arm with Aaron... Even ten minutes ago, when Stan had chosen his dumb puppet play over helping Ford. 

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU SACRIFICED FOR HIM, HUH? AND ALL HE'S EVER DONE IS SUFFOCATE YOU! LIMIT YOUR POTENTIAL! WHEN HAS HE RETURNED EVEN ONE FAVOR?” 

Ford frowned and opened his mouth – and then the laptop clock caught his eye. _Thirty seconds?!_

“TICK TOCK, KID!” Bill's eye turned into a ticking clock and he held out his hand, which blazed with blue fire. 

“Fine, fine! You can have the puppet!” He took Bill's hand and shook it. “So what's the password to the laptop?” 

“GULLIBLE!” 

“...What?” 

A horrible squeezing sensation enveloped Ford's whole body, like he was being sucked out of an airlock and into the icy void of outer space. His head spun, his stomach heaved, his feet kicked freely in zero gravity – 

_Zero what?!_

He looked down at himself and yelled. He was floating! He was a floating disembodied body five feet above the ground! And he was _translucent!_

“Bill?! Bill what's happening!” He looked up and a cold shock hit his guts like a brass-knuckled fist. His own body lay slumped against the bay window seat, utterly still. A scream built in Ford's throat. _DID I JUST FREAKING DIE?!?!_

And then – 

His body, slowly, began to move. It bent its knees, reached with its arms, pulled itself up, and opened its eyes. 

His body's eyes looked just like Bill's. 

The demon grinned, stretching Ford's own face into a hideous mask of glee. “SORRY KID, BUT YOU'RE _MY_ PUPPET NOW!” He grabbed the laptop and smashed it to the floor, then stomped on it, laughing maniacally. 

Ford was so shocked he just stared, stammering incoherently, as Bill staggered over to the nearest full-length mirror. 

“WHOA! AHAHA! MAN, IT HAS BEEN _SO LONG_ SINCE I INHABITED A BODY!” He slapped his – Ford's – own face. “WOOHOO!” He did it again. “WHOOO! HAHA! PAIN IS _HILARIOUS!_ AND TWO EYES? THIS THING'S DELUX! I NEVER GET TO HAVE THIS MUCH DEXTERITY WHEN YOU'RE ASLEEP!” He held up one hand to Ford's face and blinked his eyes with a wet _squelch,_ one at a time. Then he grabbed Ford's mouth and practically yanked Ford's lips off, showing every square millimeter of Ford's gums. 

Ford flinched back, still stunned. “I don't understand, why are you doing this? I thought you were –”

“YOUR _FRIEND?_ ” 

Bill turned around, leering at him. Without a body, it was impossible to feel temperature, but the look in Bill's eyes was so cold Ford felt like he'd been stabbed with an icicle. In the back. 

The demon laughed. “WOW, KID, YOU'RE EVEN WORSE THAN THE AUTHOR! ' _HELP ME, BILL!' 'NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME LIKE YOU DO, BILL!' 'PLEASE, BILL, TAKE MY BROTHER'S USELESS PUPPETS, BILL!'_ ” He laughed harder. “WHO'S USELESS NOW, EH FORDSY?” 

Ford swallowed. “But – the generator...the laptop –”

“LISTEN, I-QBERT, THE ONLY THING I NEEDED OUTTA YOUR BRAIN WAS THE GENERATOR, AND FIDDLEFORD WAS TOO GOODY-GOODY TO FALL FOR A SCAM. ONLY DRAWBACK TO USING A PAWN LIKE YOU WAS YOU'RE JUST A _LEETLE_ TO PERSISTENT – BUT APPARENTLY TWICE AS GULLIBLE AS YOUR AVERAGE HAMSTER!”

Ford swallowed. His nonexistent throat swelled shut. 

Bill grabbed Ford's right hand in his left and twisted it, cackling as the knuckles cracked and one thumb started to swell. “I MEAN, WHO CARES IF YOU'VE BEEN GETTING CLOSE TO SOME MAJOR ANSWERS? EVEN I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW EASY IT IS TO SUCKER YOU! I'VE GOT BIG THINGS COMIN' AND THERE'S NO WAY YOU CAN STOP ME! DESTROYING THAT LAPTOP WAS A CINCH. NOW I JUST NEED TO FIND THAT JOURNAL!” He grinned. “RACE YOU TO THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS!” 

Bill ran to the staircase, spun around, and stiffened Ford's body. There was a look of gleeful anticipation on his face – and then he slowly fell backwards, banging Ford's head, neck, knees, and back against the wooden stairs. 

For a split second, Ford just stared at the place where Bill had been. His mind reeled, but a small part of him hoped that if Ford's body had been knocked unconscious, then maybe he'd be able to return to it...? 

A slamming sound came from downstairs. Ford jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and dove down through the floor. It wasn't anything like flying in a dream. Ford had to really concentrate to make himself go where he wanted to go, and stop where he wanted to stop. He turned awkwardly and doggy-paddled into the kitchen. 

“HUMAN SODA!” Bill said, pulling a Cola out of the fridge. “I'M GONNA DRINK IT LIKE A PERSON!” He popped the lid, tilted back his head, and poured the soda down Ford's throat without even trying to swallow. He laughed a gurgled and then moved the soda over his eyes. 

Ford flinched. What was happening? Bill was acting like – like he was just hurting Ford's body for _fun!_

As if to confirm it, Bill went over to the silverware drawer, stuck one arm inside, and started ramming the drawer shut on it. Repeatedly.

“SO WHERE D'YOU KEEP THAT JOURNAL, ANYWAY?” Bill asked cheerfully. “IT'S GOTTA BE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE! ...BOY, THESE ARMS ARE DURABLE!” 

Ford gritted his teeth. “I've hidden it,” he snapped. “Somewhere you'll never find it in a million years!” 

“Hi Ford!” 

He whipped around. Stan popped his head into the kitchen. 

“Guess-what-I-borrowed-your-book-to-write-all-the-mushy-lines-and-now-I'm-gonna-use-it-as-a-prop-in-my-play-I-know-you-will-mind-so-I'm-gonna-go-before-you-finish-processing-this-sentence-okay-BYYYYEEE!” 

_ACK!_

Bill grinned. “SURE SOUNDS GREAT STAN!” He strolled out of the kitchen. “I'LL SEE YOU AT THE SHOW!” 

“Wait! No, Stanley, don't listen to him! That's not me!” 

Ford flew after him, phasing straight through the walls to the front lawn of the Shack. Stan and Mabel jumped onto Mabel's motorcycle. Ford flew in front of them. 

“You gotta hear me! Guys no no wait _stop!_ ” 

Mabel revved the engine and drove straight through Ford's body. He couldn't even feel it, but a shiver ran down his spine. How could Bill hear him but not anyone else?!

Bill laughed at the expression on Ford's face. “WELCOME TO THE MINDSCAPE, KID! WITHOUT A VESSEL TO POSSESS, YOU'RE BASICALLY A GHOST!” 

“Oh, hi, Ford, there you are!” Ria said, stepping out of the Shack. Seandra was right behind her. 

“What up, Ford?” 

“Ria, Seandrea! Help me!” Ford waved his arms frantically and flew straight at them – and then right through them. 

“We're heading to the theater,” Ria said. “Dwayne and Martino are already in the car.” 

“Need a ride, Ford?” Seandra asked. 

“OHO! ANYTHING FOR YOU, TOOTS!” 

They got into the car, all casual. Bill didn't even try to slam Ford's arm in the door, just buckled right up like he really was Ford. He even put on a seatbelt!

“I'm gonna stop you Bill!” 

The scream tore out of Ford's throat before he even realized it. He flew right up to the car window, snarling. “I'm gonna find that journal before you do and I'm gonna _stop you!_ ”  
Bill was turned away. “BUT HOW CAN YOU STOP ME... _IF YOU DON'T EXIIIIIST_.” He turned slowly to look at Ford, then laughed his head off as the car drove away. 

 

Ford really, _really_ wished he'd paid more attention to Stan's puppet show. Like where in town it was being held. 

“Gotta find my body before Bill does something crazy with it,” he muttered. “Come on, come on...” 

He couldn't believe Bill had done this. But it didn't matter now. He just had to focus on the mission – find journal, and stop Bill from taking it. 

It felt like he'd flown all over the town before he finally found the theater. He flew inside, straight to the darkened auditorium. Hard to see anything in there but the silhouettes of tall people's heads. So where – ?

“AHH, NOTHING LIKE THE THEATER, HUH, TOOTS?” 

Ford found him. One arm around Seandra – Ford ground his teeth – the other hogging the armrest he shared with Ria. 

“HEY RIA! WANNA HEAR THE EXACT TIME AND DATE OF YOUR DEATH?” 

She smiled serenly. “No, my abuelito already used this week's horoscope to do both of ours.” 

Mabel sat on the other side of Ria. She leaned forward. “Hey Ford, pipe down, willya? Some of us wanna hear the show!” 

“Hey guys! You all made it!” Stanley ran up to them, grinning. 

_Give me a Look, Stan!_ Ford thought at him, as hard as he could. _Bill won't know what you're doing – give me a Look and when I don't return it you'll know something's wrong!_

But Stan was looking at Mabel. “I'd _never_ miss the greatest sock opera of all time!” she was saying. 

“Um, I think it's the _only_ sock opera of all time.” 

“Which makes it automatically the greatest!” 

Stan laughed. “Can't argue with that logic!” 

Bill butted in “BY THE BY, STAN, WHERE'D YOU PUT MY JOURNAL AGAIN?” He blinked one eye at a time and Ford shuddered. 

Stan didn't notice. “I used it as a prop for the big wedding scene! I still need a reverend, though.” 

“HEY! WHAT IF I PLAY THE REVEREND?” Bill asked. “I MEAN, SOMEONE'S GOTTA HOLD THAT JOURNAL, RIGHT?” 

Stan smiled almost as hard as Bill. “Really!? Great, let's go!” 

Ford blanched. “Oh no, wait, Stanley!” 

He flew after them, phasing right through the heavy velvet curtain. It actually twitched a little when he did, and he paused mid-flight, hoping someone would – yes! Dwayne was walking towards him! 

“Dwayne! Dwayne, listen to me!” 

But Dwayne walked right through him and stuck his head out of the curtain. Then he shrugged and walked off. 

_Agh, no!_

Ford went back to the curtain and flew through it a few more times. It did actually move, but not enough to grab anyone's attention. And how was he supposed to communicate with them if it did? One bump for yes, two for no? There was no way he could explain the situation like that – plus they might just think he was a weird draft of air! 

The play was starting. He had to hurry. If he remembered right, Stan would need the journal by Act III. Ford had some time to think of a plan, but not a lot. He hovered about ten feet above the ground, thinking. 

A small part of him really, _really_ wished he had a chance to enjoy this. He was effectively invisible, so he could watch any kind of supernatural creature in its native habitat, completely undisturbed! He wouldn't even have to – 

_NEEEERRD._

He jumped. Wow, even in his own head, he could hear Stanley's voice. 

Wait – Stan! Anybody else would probably explain it away or ignore him, but Stan was the one person who would believe a story as crazy as “a demon stole my body”. All he had to do was find Stan and...and somehow communicate with him. 

“What did Bill say?” he muttered. “I can't be heard without a vessel? But where would I find a...” 

Motion caught his eye and he looked down. Martino had just set a huge box of puppets at the side of the stage. And one of them was the sock-version of Ford himself. 

_Perfect._

 

Stan crouched behind the low wall that hid him from the audience. 

“ _'Oh, Stan, I'm so glad we're together on this deserted island!'_ ” Puppet Marilyn sighed. 

“' _Not for long, babe,_ '” Puppet Stan replied. “' _I think I hear – A KRAKEN!'_ ” 

Martino navigated the huge many-tentacled sock monstrosity onto the stage. Flashing lasers and explosion sounds went off. Stan's puppet leaped at it, shouting, spear in its little sock-puppet hand. He stabbed the kraken pretty good, too, until Martino started frantically motioning for him to calm it down. Stan just grinned and stabbed it harder. Mabel had filled it with bright red stuffing, so it would look like the thing was bleeding if he actually did manage to slice it. 

Finally his sock puppet self stood on top of the slain monster. It let out a last wail of defeat and belched up a huge pile of fake-gold treasure. 

“' _Oh, Stanley! You're so amazing!_ '” Sock Puppet Marilyn cried. 

“' _You better believe it, babe!_ '” 

The audience apparently agreed. They cheered like crazy as the curtains closed on the second act. 

Stan stood up. Wow, his back hadn't hurt like that since he'd tried to be the Mystery Shack boss. 

Dwayne came up to him, extra wires from the speakers still looped over his arm. “That was great, Stanley!” 

“Yeah, but easy on the puppets, huh?” Martino was dragging over the kraken, now a very sorry-looking pile of stuffing and fabric scraps. 

Stanley gave them a thumbs-up and headed to his room. Normally he'd be bouncing on his feet by now, but there was this weird feeling in his stomach. He'd seen Marilyn show up, and she brought a camera. Mabel, too. Mabel was one thing – he might not have minded so much, maybe he could get Fiddlenerd to add special effects to it later. But Marilyn...

He stepped into his dressing room and shut the door behind him. “Don't mess this up,” he muttered to himself. He went over to the drinking fountain and dunked his head in the water, then shook himself all over like a dog. “Whew! Nothing like freezing chlorinated water to wake you up!” 

“Oh, c'mon, you soaked me!” 

Stanley whirled around. The Ford puppet was hanging in midair, scowling at him. 

“AAAH! POSSESSED PUPPET! POSSESSED PUPPET!” Stan grabbed the nearest object – a fork – and threw it. It struck the puppet right in its creepy button eye, but the thing didn't so much as flinch. 

“Stanley, relax! It's me, Ford!” 

“Wha...seriously?” 

“Seriously!” 

“So...you _are_ a possessed puppet, but I _shouldn't_ freak out? I'm missing something here.” 

“You don't know the half of it. Bill tricked me, he stole my body and now he's after th journal!” 

“Wait, the triangle guy?” 

“YES THE TRIANGLE GUY!” 

Stan nodded thoughtfully. “Cool. I'ma go punch a demon now.” He turned and started for the door. 

“Waitwaitwait!” The Ford puppet zoomed in front of him. “Bill's in _my_ body! Don't beat it up, just find a way to get me back –”

The door opened, slamming Puppet Ford into the nearest wall. 

Stan jumped. “Marilyn!” 

She smiled at him, looking up through seriously pretty eyelashes. “Hiya, Stan,” she said softly. 

“Yep that's me I'm definitely Stan!” 

She laughed, a sound like silver bells. Like _wow_. “I really like your play so far.” She brushed back a strand of hair. “I mean, a play like that would _definitely_ get someone into Juliard. All you have to do is stick the ending. You can do it, right?” 

“The ending? Sure! Comes right after the middle of the story! Got some, uh – good ending stuff in it!” _Sound smarter, sound smarter!_

Marilyn smiled at him again. “I know you can do it, Stan. I'll see you afterwards, 'kay?” 

She left with a flick of her perfect hair.

Something was slapping his cheek. “Oh, geez, Ford!” He batted the puppet away. 

“Wake up, Stan, seriously!” 

Stan put his hands on his hips. “Look, can't this wait until after the show? I'm tryin' to get the girl of my dreams here!” 

“This is more important! Do you want me to be a sock puppet FOREVER?!”

He grinned. “Yeah but see, if you're a sock, you can't sweat, so –”

“This isn't funny, Stanley!” 

“It's a little funny. Alright, alright!” He grabbed the Puppet Stan from where he'd dropped it on the floor. “Just do the puppet thing until I find the journal, capiche? And make sure to do my voice _extra_ manly. Like, _Rugged_ Manly Dan level.” 

Ford groaned. 

 

“ _'I can't believe how heroic you were, taking down that monster for me!_ '” 

“ _'Hey, all in a day's work for an actual filthy-rich hero! I bet I could buy a Stanleymobile...OH WAIT I JUST DID.'_ ” 

A cardboard Stanleymobile appeared out of nowhere. All Ford could see was the back of it, but the outline looked pretty true-to-life. He continued working the puppets.

“' _Squeal!_ '”

“' _I also bought...A STAN O' WAR!'_ ” 

The Stan O' War appeared. Ford raised his arm. The Ford puppet was supposed to be piloting the ship. 

“' _AHOY, CAPTAIN!_ '” Puppet Ford shouted. “ _'Climb aboard while I sail you off into the sunset!_ '”

He made the Stan and Marilyn puppets climb the boat and make out. He suppressed a gag, but he could hear the audience eating it up, cheering and clapping their hands. 

He grumbled to himself. “If Stan finds my body after this we are _so_ even.” 

Stan moved carefully along the catwalk. The play sounded like it was going awesome, except for Stan's puppet's voice, which sounded all high and Ford-y. Better hurry up and kick that demon's butt so he could get back there and fix it. 

There was a huge wooden wedding cake that was supposed to come down at the end of Act III. It was hanging by a thick rope tied to the railing, and he'd left the journal inside it. 

He checked the knot before climbing in (he'd been working on sailor's knots) and then swung the cake towards him. It swayed a lot, but it was sort of like getting on a boat when the waters were rough. No big deal. 

And then something kicked his legs out from under him and he fell face-first into the cake. 

“OW!” 

He tried to get up, but suddenly the thing dropped out from under him. It was falling! 

Stan yelled and grabbed at the sides of it – and then it stopped hard in mid-air, halfway to the stage. Somebody must've accidentally undid the rope before they caught him. 

Stan took a deep breath and picked up the journal. “C'mon, c'mon, there's gotta be a way to get Sixer's body back.” 

“OH, BUT WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT?” 

Stan's stomach fell straight down through the floor and his head jerked up. His brother – or at least his brother's body – was standing on the catwalk, one foot braced against the railing, hauling the cake up inch by inch. 

But it clearly wasn't his brother. The thing in Ford's body had not only dressed himself in Stan's tux, it had added a bowtie to the outfit. Its grin was practically manic, showing exactly how pink Ford's gums were from molar to molar, and the eyes were slitted like a cat's and actually glowing yellow. 

Stan swallowed hard and glared. “BILL-FORD! ... _CIPHORD_.” 

“SH!” Bill stabbed a thumb at the audience. “ _YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO RUIN THE SHOW..._ ” 

Stan looked down. Mabel was still filming – and so was Marilyn. He swallowed again. 

“WHOOPS!” 

Bill let go of the rope and Stan yelled as the cake dropped another two feet. The demon caught the rope with a lurch. He grinned. 

“IT'S SLIPPING! HOW'S ABOUT YOU HAND OVER THAT JOURNAL?” 

“What?” Stan's grip on it tightened. “No way, pal. Only way I'm letting _this_ go is to beat you over the head with it.” 

“BET FORD WOULD _LOVE_ THAT – IF HE EVER GETS HIS BODY BACK!” Bill laughed. “WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE SO MUCH? IF YOU WERE AN ONLY KID, MABEL WOULD PROBABLY BE ABLE TO AFFORD LETTING YOU STAY!” Bill waved a hand. “BESIDES, FORD'S ALWAYS DITCHING YOU FOR SOME SUPERNATURAL DISCOVERY OR SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT YOU'RE TOO DUMB TO UNDERSTAND! SO COME TO YOUR SENSES!” Bill/Ford's face darkened. “GIMME THE BOOK OR YOUR PLAY IS RUINED.” 

For a split second, Stan didn't move. Then, slowly, he held the book out towards Bill, keeping his eyes down. 

“THERE IT IS.” He could hear the satisfied smile in Bill's voice. “I MEAN, WHO WOULD SACRIFICE EVERYTHING JUST FOR THEIR DUMB SIBLING?” 

“ _ME, JERKWAD!_ ” 

“WHA –” 

Stan jerked back on the book. Bill was holding on too tight and wasn't expecting it, and he yelled as he fell into the cake. The whole thing fell and this time it kept right on falling until it hit the stage, smashing into a million splintery pieces. One of the pieces hit the fog machine and the whole place started to fill with smoke. 

Stan immediately rolled over onto Bill and tried to pin him, down, but the demon grabbed the book and tried to throw him off. Stan tried for a chokehold and Bill slammed his hands against the stage, forcing them upright. Stan's weight overbalanced them and they went rolling, pinching, clawing, biting at each other. Finally Stan slammed Ford's body down so hard he heard a _crack_ and pinned him there with one arm, trying to pull the book away with the other. 

“Get out of my brother's body, you evil triangle!” He head-butted the demon and finally pulled the book loose, scrambling away with it. 

Bill rolled to his feet, crouching low like a ticked-off cat. “YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME?! I'M A BEING OF PURE ENERGY WITH NO WEAKNESS!” 

With a cry if inhuman rage, Bill lunged at Stan, slamming him against the stage. For a second Stan's vision went black and red stars popped in his brain. Then everything fuzzed back to normal. 

He grinned fiercely. “Yeah, but you're talkin' to the one guy who knows all of Ford's weaknesses!” 

“WHAT D'YOU MEAN HIS –” 

Stan shoved his hand into Ford's armpit and started tickling him. 

Bill's whole body convulsed with laughter and Stanley scooted out from underneath him. Stan grinned. Once Ford got started laughing, he could go for a pretty long time – the record was twenty seconds – without being tickled again. 

Finally Bill got the laughing under control. “AGH! BODY SPASMS! WHAT ARE THESE?!” 

Stan waved the book. “Come 'n' get it, Billy! C'mon! Who wants the journal?” 

“RAAARGH!” 

Bill chased him around and around the stage. Stan started laughing his head off. He was _literally_ running circles around a living nightmare! 

“WHAT IS THIS? FEELING” Bill gasped. “MY BODY BURNING...!” 

Stan darted over, bonked him on the head with the journal, then darted away. “Ha! I _told_ Ford not to stay up so late! That body smells like a wet sock and it hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours! Also, I actually drank Mabel's Mabel Juice and I could go all night, baby!” He dropped the journal and put up his fists, shadow-boxing the air. “Come on, suckah! Let's dance!” 

Bill groped towards him, stumbling and staggering. “I CAN'T MOVE THESE STUPID NOODLE LEGS! CURSE YOU, USELESS FLESH STICKS!” He actually punched his own legs. “BODY...SHUTTING DOWN...MUST...SCRATCH...MOSQUITO BITES...” 

The demon stopped, swaying, and then collapsed on the spot. 

“Ford!” Stan rushed towards him and flipped his brother's body over. “Oh shoot oh shoot I didn't mean to hit you so hard honest I –” 

Ford opened his eyes. 

“AGH!” Stan punched him. 

“OW! What the heck was that for?!” 

Stan coughed sheepishly. “Uh, sorry, I thought you were still the demon.” He held out a hand and helped Ford to his feet. 

Cold laughter rang through the air. They turned, instinctively pressing into each other, Stan's arm already flung out. 

One of the puppets – Ford's – was sitting on the box of fireworks they'd set up for the grand finale. The puppet inched its way across the lid. “THIS ISN'T THE LAST YOU'LL HEAR OF ME,” Bill threatened. “BIG THINGS ARE COMING! YOU CAN'T STOP ME!” 

Stan grinned. “Oh yeah?” 

He took something out of his pocket and pressed the button. 

Bill had about a split-second to realize what was happening. And then the whole crate exploded. 

Stan grabbed Ford and they jumped off the stage as a whole lot of fire hazards filled the air with smoke, sparkles, and chain-reaction explosions. They sat against the stage, covering their heads. Stan looked up. It was hard to hear anything but the thunder and the impending threat of being banned from the theater for life, but he saw a whole lot of flaming sock puppets go shooting through the air. He groaned inwardly. Martino must've set the spares down right next to the fireworks box. 

_Perfect._ Now _how'm I gonna impress Marilyn?_

It actually took a full minute for the fireworks to stop. By the time they did, the stage was in ruins, the audience looked like they'd been dusted with coal, and Stan's ears were ringing like a fire bell. (Wait, no, that was the actual fire bell.) 

Stan stood up. “Uh...SURPRISE TWIST ENDING!” he shouted, hoping people would buy it. 

They didn't. The sprinklers turned on and everybody fled, booing over their shoulders and giving him dirty looks. 

Marilyn stalked up to him. 

“HI!” Stan said, trying to smile winningly. “PRETTY GOOD SPECIAL EFFECTS, RIGHT? AND THE PUPPETS WERE GOOD! AM I TALKING TOO LOUD? I FEEL LIKE I'M TALKING TOO LOUD.” 

“That...was...the... _worst!_ ” she spat at him. “How'm I supposed to get into Juliard if all I've got to send them is a a play that _literally_ goes down in flames?” 

Stan blinked. “Wait...what? You were...were you gonna send in my play on your application?” 

“Of course, you blockhead! You think I wanna be stuck doing little kid shows in the library forever?! Submitting this play was supposed to be my big break! Or did you think anyone would actually _want_ to hang out with an idiot like you?!” 

_Smack._

“OW!” 

Stan looked at Ford, who stared at his hand like he'd just noticed it had six fingers. “I – I'm sorry...?” 

“ _BITE ME!_ ” Marilyn turned and stalked for the exit. 

Stanley looked back and forth between Ford and the retreating Marilyn. “Did you actually do what I think you just did?” 

“You mean break every bone in my fingers?” Ford groaned, holding his injured wrist with his other hand. “ _Agh!_ What did Bill _do?!_ Everything hurts!” 

Stan smiled. “I got your back, bro.” 

“Yeah...but Marilyn's got the camera. She could still steal your stuff.” 

_“Nope!” Stan held it up. He'd pick-pocketed it when Marilyn was yelling. “C'mon, let's go home.”_

__

“No seriously I need to go to the hospital.” 

__

__

Mabel went back in the theater to find the kids and scram before the firefighter guys could show up. (And probably find something incriminating.) 

__

She'd found Dwayne and Martino huddling in Stan's dressing room. Stan and Ford were flopped over a couple chairs in the audience seating, looking like they'd been run over by trucks and then chewed on by several kangaroos. 

__

“Geez, what happened to you?!” 

__

“Auuuuggh,” they moaned. 

__

“Okaaaay. Well, is it I-think-I-can-sleep-this-off-'auuuuggh', or 'I-have-to-go-to-the-hospital-pronto-or-I'll-die-auuuuggh'?” 

__

“ _Auuuuggh._ ” 

__

“Yeah, no, we're going to the hospital.” 

__

Seandra biked home, and Ria offered to take Dwayne and Martino home in her pick-up. Mabel took the niblets, jammed them into the sidecar, and drove off for the town clinic. 

__

The doctor, thank goodness, was in, and agreed to see them immediately. (Mabel told them they'd been at the play; she just didn't mention they'd been the cause of all the explosions.) The doctor checked the twins over and announced that they needed X-rays. She whisked them back one at a time, until Mabel was left alone in the waiting room. 

__

After a while, Mabel took out her portable knitting kit and got to work on another sweater. It always helped to knit when she was worried. This sweater had six arms for an upcoming exhibit that was part-lady bug, part-panda. She called it “Panda Bug.” (The title was a work in progress.) 

__

“Ms. Pines?” 

__

She looked up. The doctor was holding open the door and beckoning her back. She stashed the knitting back in her jacket and followed. 

__

To her surprise, the doctor didn't take her back to her grephews. She led Mabel to an empty room with a light table and a bunch of X-rays laid out over its surface. 

__

“So what's the word, doc?” Mabel asked nervously. She kept glancing at the X-rays. “I mean, you're acting like it's something serious.” 

__

“Perhaps. They both have mild concussions, and several lacerations and hematomas over their bodies. It sounds worse than it is,” she added, catching the look on Mabel's face. “It just means cuts and bruises.” 

__

“How 'bout we stick to small words,” Mabel managed. 

__

Doc nodded. “One of Ford's fingers was fractured on each hand, and I offered him splints. I suggest you make sure that he uses them, at least for the next four weeks. Six would be best. I am a little concerned, however, about this.” The doctor pointed to a bone on one of the X-rays. It looked...exactly like all the other bones. 

__

“What'm I looking at?” 

__

“An old break. About two years old, unless I miss my guess. Perhaps broken twice. And from the look of it, although it healed more or less properly, it didn't receive any medical attention.” 

__

Mabel frowned. “Did it get banged up or something just now?” 

__

“No, fortunately for him. But I find it odd that in this day and age, he didn't receive proper care. I'd like to ask you how he got it.” 

__

“I dunno,” Mabel said, surprised at the question. “They're only staying with me for the summer. This is the first time I've seen them since they were three. Maybe boxing? Ford's not real into it, but Stan can throw a mean left hook.” 

__

The doctor nodded slowly. “That _is_ what Stan told me. And it's entirely possible it was passed off as some kind of sprain. However, as a professional medical practitioner, I am required to document this in case further such injuries occur.” 

__

“Well sure. I mean, wouldn't you do that anyway?” 

__

“Perhaps I was too vague. In case further injuries occur...at _home._ ” 

__

Mabel stared at her. 

__

“Are you –” 

__

“Mabel?” 

__

They turned. The boys were both leaning against the doorway, squinting against the lights. They looked miserable. 

__

“Can we go home now?” 

__

“Can we have pizza and _then_ go home?” 

__

“Sure, sure. Go wait in the waiting room, huh? I gotta pay the lady.” 

__

They obeyed. Which said a lot about how much pain they were in. 

__

The bill pretty much emptied Mabel's savings. She really _really_ couldn't afford it, but she splurged on some pain pills for the kids. (She'd have to steal that toxic waste now if she couldn't raise enough cash, but that was a problem for another day.) 

__

As they were getting onto her motorcycle, Mabel paused. 

__

“Stan? How did you say you broke your arm?” 

__

He mumbled something. 

__

“What?” 

__

“ _Boxing._ ” He winced. “Hurts to talk.” 

__

“You broke your arm boxing, _twice?_ ” 

__

“Grauntie Mabel,” Ford moaned. “We're _dyinnngg..._ ” 

__

“Alright, alright.” 

__

She gunned the motor and drove off, wincing as every little vibration jostled the twins. The sound seemed to be really bothering them, too. They were quiet with their heads bowed, curled up against each other. Cute as it was, it was definitely not normal. 

__

Neither was getting a bone broken, twice, in boxing. Mabel made a mental note to call their parents tomorrow and have a chat about safety. She didn't know if Stan was boxing outside his weight range or what, but that had to stop. She'd see to that. 

__

For now, all she could do was get some food in them and prop them up in front of the television. They were still kids, and they'd heal fast. In fact, if she made her special chocolate-flavored secret-ingredient pancakes, they'd probably be back on their feet by tomorrow morning. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL KNEW IT WAS COMING
> 
> Part of me started this series SOLELY TO GET TO THIS EPISODE. (The other part just couldn't get enough of Stan and Ford acting like brothers and wanted more. As do we all.)


	8. Sock Opera Short

_Stanley leaned over the rail with a deep sigh of pleasure. The sun was warm, their boat was done, and he and Ford were just out on the lake, enjoying the pure bliss of the sparkling water. The boat was a safe place, away from the world, a place where nobody could touch them. The sun and the warmth and his brother were all part of that feeling of light in his chest. He closed his eyes. He'd never felt so free._

_His brother came up next to him and nudged his elbow. “Penny for your thoughts?”_

_Stan smiled without opening his eyes. “You can have 'em for a buck. Ten bucks.”_

_Ford laughed. “Okay, let me guess. You're thinking...about finding buried treasure?”_

_“Well I am now. Hey!” Stan stood up and stretched, then turned to his brother. “Did you ever fix...that...”_

_Ford's eyes burned an ugly yellow and the pupils were like black blades._

_“YOU DIDN'T THINK YOU ACTUALLY STOPPED ME, DID YOU?” Bill laughed. “OH WOW YOU DID! YOU'RE EVEN DUMBER THAN YOU LOOK – AND THAT'S_ REALLY _DUMB!_ ” 

_Stan's hands curled into fists. The sky overhead darkened with clouds as thick and dark as melting tar. Thunder rumbled._

_“Get out before I punch you out,” he threatened._

_“AW, YOU'RE NOT STILL MAD ABOUT THE WHOLE 'POSSESSION' THING, ARE Y- WHOA THERE!”_

_Stan launched himself at Bill, but the demon – still wearing Ford's body – just floated up in the air and hung there like a giant mosquito._

_“GET BACK HERE!” Stan bellowed, jumping, but Bill danced just out of reach. Stan tried to jump higher, but he couldn't make himself fly._

_“LITTLE ADVICE, KID – DON'T TRY TO GET IN MY WAY AGAIN.”_

_“Or what?” Stan panted. “You tried to steal my brother's body! I ever get my hands on you, I'll punch your frigging lights out!”_

_Bill just grinned at him, but Ford's mouth was now full of shark teeth. “THEN YOU MIGHT NEED TO HURRY, KID. 'CUZ GUESS WHAT? I CAN POSSESS YOUR BROTHER'S BODY ANY TIME I WANT – BUT THAT BODY MIGHT NOT BE AROUND FOR LONG!”_

_Before Stan could say a word, the boat suddenly bucked like a crazy rhino. The lake swelled in a huge dark tidal wave. The boat was drawn up its side, higher and higher, and Stan slid backwards over the deck. He tried to grab for the wheelhouse or the railing but he missed and fell screaming over the side._

 

He hit the floor hard, jarring his still-bruised brain. For a second Stan couldn't figure out if he was still on the boat or what. Then he remembered that Mabel had kept them awake for a few hours before finally putting them to bed. So he was on the floor, in the attic, safe. Right across the room from Ford. 

“ _THAT BODY MIGHT NOT BE AROUND FOR LONG!_ ” 

He sat up so fast his head spun and he saw stars. He scrabbled over to Ford's bed. 

His brother was gone. 

Instantly Stan was on his feet. He grabbed the baseball bat from behind his bed and darted out of the room. 

“FORD!” he shouted. “FORD, WHERE ARE YOU?!” 

No answer, but he felt a cold draft on his left arm. He spun around. The room on the other side of the attic. It had a window. 

He sprinted across the floor. The glass panes of the bay window were open and swinging slightly in the breeze. Stan scrambled out the window and climbed the roof so fast he almost fell twice and dropped his bat. 

“FORD!” 

“HEEEEEY, LITTLE FISH!” 

The voice came from the other side of the roof. And it sent an entirely new chill through his body. 

Stan sprinted along the top of the the “SHACK” sign and tripped over a loose shingle, landing sprawled on the roof tiles. He slid three feet before he managed to hook one foot in a hole in the roof. He looked up. 

Bill. 

He was possessing Ford's body, feet spread wide, a crazy smile on his face. His right eye was actually dripping blood, and there was more blood staining Ford's jeans, like he'd been stabbing Ford's legs with a fork. 

“SO GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT, MACKEREL!” Bill said gleefully, spreading his arms wide. “WOULDN'T WANT YOU TO MISS THE SHOW! THERE'S ONLY GOING TO BE ONE – HARD TO DO AN ENCORE AFTER THE STUNT I'VE GOT PLANNED!” 

The demon had his brother standing at the very edge of the ledge. If he even took one step backwards...

Stanley stood up very slowly. “What do you want, Bill.” 

Bill laughed. “WHY? YOU WANNA MAKE A DEAL WITH ME, MACKEREL?”

“Sure. You let my brother go, or I'll exorcise the daylights out of you, you overgrown nacho!” 

“WRONG ANSWER!” 

Bill stepped back, still grinning, and Ford's foot met empty air. Stanley screamed and leaped forward, arms outstretched. 

 

Ford's skin was cold and clammy and he was staring at blurry treetops. For a horrible second he thought he was falling, and his stomach swooped sickeningly. Then he realized his arm was cramped because he was lying on it, there were roof tiles digging into his side, and something was wrapped around his waist like a vice. 

“Wh-wh-what?” he stammered, trying to wriggle loose. 

The arms, if possible, tightened even more, until Ford felt like he was about to get pinched in half. 

“I told you forget it!” Stanley snarled, and he banged his skull into the back of Ford's head. 

“OW! Stanley! Cut it out!” Ford gasped. His arms were pinned. “I can't breathe here!” 

“...Sixer?” 

Somehow they worked themselves into a sitting position. Stanley's arms loosened so that at least he could breathe. Ford realized the treetops were blurry because he wasn't wearing his glasses. Since sliding off the roof seemed a tad undesirable, he let Stanley keep holding onto him. 

“What are we doing up here?” he asked. “Did I – sleepwalk or something?” 

“N-no...” 

A moment passed. Ford's brain, even damaged from the earlier concussions, was already piecing the events together. He'd never sleepwalked before...he had no memory of getting here...it was like something had grabbed his body and walked him up here like a rag doll and – 

He swallowed hard. 

“Was...was Bill going to throw me off the roof?” 

Behind him, he felt Stanley nod. 

“Stupid triangle,” he muttered. “Woke me up so I could watch you do it, too. Like I was ever gonna let anything happen...” 

Ford stared at the trees. He felt cold all the way down to his core. The betrayal was bad enough...being taken for a chump, being played by someone he thought was his friend, that made him feel so sick and angry he wanted to punch everything in sight. But this was way, way worse. 

“I – I made the deal until the end of time,” he said faintly. His voice sounded thin and far away. “So what if we destroyed the empty vessels? The puppets? He can – he can still use _me_...whenever he wants...” 

“He's not using you now.” 

“No...because...because I'm _awake_. It's like he's letting my brain keep sleeping and just possessing my body whenever I fall asleep and he can make me do or say anything he wants and even throw myself off the –” He had to stop because he was starting to hyperventilate. 

“Then let's get off the roof already.” 

“Right, right.” Ford took a deep breath. He waited. 

“Uh, Stanley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You might wanna let go of me so we can climb outta here.” 

“Uh...I can't.” 

 

They'd eventually managed to climb off the roof, once Ford had pried Stanley's arms apart. They held hands on their way back to the window, which was awkward, but both of them were thoroughly paranoid about falling. Ford was definitely starting to understand his brother's past fear of heights. 

Once they'd gotten back inside, they tiptoed past Grauntie Mabel's room and headed for the kitchen, where Ford poured them both a glass of Mabel juice. 

Stanley wrinkled his nose at the stuff. 

“Drink up,” Ford urged him. “You said you drank a glass earlier. We have to stay awake to think of a plan, and this stuff's like coffee on steroids.” 

“That's not how I'd describe it,” Stanley muttered, but he took the glass anyway. They both held their noses and chugged. 

“Ughaaaaah,” Stanley gasped. “I think I'm gonna use this stuff if I ever have to poison someone.” 

Ford sat down at the table and pulled out his journal. It dropped open to the page about Bill being a monster. He shuddered and quickly turned the page. First the author, then Ford – Bill had tricked them both. He could almost here the demon laughing. 

“Okay,” he said, tapping the page. “We gotta figure out a way to defeat Bill.”

“Easy. Just don't sleep.” 

“I can't _permanently_ not sleep, Stanley,” Ford said. “I think the record for a human going without sleep is eleven days. I can't keep that up.” 

“So kick his dream-butt. You did it once before, right?” 

“Won't work.” Ford shook his head. “We 'defeated' him once in Grauntie Mabel's mindscape, but it was more like we annoyed him and he decided to go away. And even doing that took three of us. Plus, when he possessed me tonight, I wasn't even aware of it – it was really like sleepwalking. My soul didn't even leave my body, he just...took control while I kept sleeping. Even when you made him get out of my body earlier today, that didn't stop him. _Nothing_ stops him.”

“Hey,” Stanley said suddenly, looking at him. “Ford, we're gonna figure this out.”

Ford wiped his face with his hand. It came away wet with tears. “I'm not giving up. I'm just saying our options aren't looking real great.” 

“What does the journal say?” 

“Nothing useful. Just that one spell on how to get into people's minds. And there was something about waiting for someone to come and help him, but after that the writing just stops.” 

“Well, maybe that's what we need to do,” Stanley said. “Call in an export.”

“Ex _pert_ ,” Ford corrected. “But it's not like we know anyone with experience dealing with demons.” 

“What about Venus Valerie?” 

Ford blinked. “The UFO nut at Greasy's Diner?” 

“Yeah! Doesn't she wear, like, that tinfoil hat all the time?” He sprang to his feet and hurried to the drawer by the sink. He started rummaging around. 

Ford ignored him and went back to the journal. He took out his keychain, clicked it on, and flipped it over to the blacklight side. Maybe there was something he'd missed, some clue about how to actually _defeat_ Bill, once and for all...

Something dropped onto his head. 

“Tada!” Stanley said triumphantly. “A tinfoil triangle!” 

Ford took it off and looked at it. It was crude, and it was folded up like a paper boat, but it was clearly a triangular hat made of tinfoil. 

“You want me to wear a _metal_ triangle...to stop a _yellow_ triangle.” 

“Worth a shot!” 

Ford sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. “I am _not_ wearing –”

 

The next thing he knew, Ford was blinking up at the ceiling. Everything hurt. His toes felt like they'd been bent backwards, his stomach burned like he'd dumped boiling water on himself, and his head pounded so horribly the ceiling lights looked like they were changing from black to yellow and back again. He groaned, closing his eyes against the burning light. 

Something heavy was pressing him to the ground, and his wrists were pinned to the floor. He forced himself to open his eyes. 

Stanley stared down at him, white-faced and tight-lipped. There were several bruises on his face and his bottom lip was cut and bleeding. 

“Did I...” Ford didn't finish the sentence. His throat really hurt. “Was I screaming?” he asked hoarsely. 

Stanley managed a nod. “Wear the hat.”

Ford swallowed. “I'll wear the hat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please? :3


	9. Ria and the Real Boy

Stan was innocently minding his own business, building a fort out of the monsters in the Museum, when _somehow_ gravity decided it hated him and they all collapsed on top of him. (The fact that Stan was standing at the top of the fort and stomping on it had nothing to do with it.) 

“YES! I'm trapped and I won't have to do any chores forever!” Stan crowed. “Wait...I'm trapped and there's no bathroom in here! HELP! HELP I'M TRAPPED AND MY BLADDER IS GOING TO EXPLODE IN THIRTY SECONDS!” 

“Relax, Stanley.” 

He was pinned so he couldn't turn around, but he recognized Ria's voice. A few seconds later the Six-Pack-Alope lifted off his back and he jumped to his feet. 

“BATHROOOOM!” 

He zoomed down the hall. 

When he came back, he found Ria in the Gift Shop. Dan was at the register, Mabel was making more monsters, and Ford was sitting on a floor at her feet, a bunch of science papers spread around him. His hat – one of the pine tree ones they'd taken from the Shop and lined with tinfoil – was crammed low over his face. 

“You headin' home?” Mabel asked, looking up at Ria. “Thought you usually hung out behind a door or something.” 

She smiled. “Not today. Your order came in at the yarn shop, so I'm going to go pick it up on my way home. I'll bring it with me tomorrow morning.” 

“Sweet! In that case, get out already!” 

Ria laughed and waved, heading out the door. 

“Bye, Ria,” Ford said. 

“Adios!” Stan called. 

Dan grunted. 

Stan could hear her humming as she walked across the lawn. “Hey, you ever wonder what Ria does when she's _not_ at the Mystery Shack? Like, wears a cape and pretends she's a superhero, or wage war against the Rubber Duck Overlords, or something?” 

“Pretty sure she just goes home to spend time with her abuelito,” Mabel said, going back to gluing. “So, like, sitting on the couch and playing video games.” 

“That sounds _awesome._ ” 

 

Ria sat on the couch next to her abuelito. They were playing video games. 

“Punch!” Soos shouted. “Punch those leopards!” 

The timer went off, and Ria stood up. 

“Aww, c'mooon! We were at the best part!” 

“I need to check the mailbox,” Ria said. “You remember what happened the last time we forgot.” 

Soos shuddered. 

Ria stepped outside. The night was cool and peaceful. There was no one else out on their street. It felt...a little lonely. 

She went to the mailbox, took it out, and brought it inside. Her abuelito had gotten up to go to the bathroom, so she sat on the couch and started looking through the mail. There were a couple of bills, an _FCLORP_ magazine, and a rather beautiful envelope decorated in faint pink hearts. She opened it. 

When Soos came back a few minutes later, she was still looking at it. 

“Ria? Whatcha lookin' at?” 

“This.” She handed it over. “Cousin Sophia is having an engagement party.” 

“ _Really!?_ Wow, that's so amazing!” He looked over at her, grinning, but his smile faded a little when he saw her face. “Ria, what's wrong?” 

“Nothing. I mean...I am happy for her, but...we're the _same age_. She is a successful woman who got a full-time job at the local bank and even has a future husband. And while this is wonderful news...” 

“You're not comparing yourself with her, are you?” 

“A little.” She gestured to herself. “Look at me. I know that I am smart, funny, and generally fantastic. Yet I do the same thing all day, every day; I have no friends my own age; and I've never once been asked out on a date.” 

Soos shrugged. “Maybe the other guys are shy.” 

Ria sat back, picked up an unfinished doily and started to knit. 

Her abuelito put a hand on her knee. “Look, Ria, if you're looking for a change, why not talk to some of the people who visit the Shack? Make some friends? Having a pen pal can be a lot of fun. You know how much fun it is to go to the Post Office! It would be even better if you knew there was someone out there in the world, thinking of you and sending you a specially marked package exclusively for you.” 

Ria smiled. “That's wonderful advice. Muchas gracias, abuelito.” 

“De nada, chiquita. Now – let's punch those leopards until we get to the Boss Level!” 

 

Mabel watched her prey carefully, hiding out of sight, waiting until _juuuust_ the right moment...and then pounced! 

“HELLO!” 

“AAAH!” 

Mabel laughed. The little tourist kid nearly dropped his lollipop. “Sorry, sorry, but I've got this horrible elderly face and I've gotta get my kicks somehow! But seriously, I've got a game I bet you'll really love!” She stepped aside. Behind her was an automated game with a small brown bear puppet resting on a metal base. The bear's vacant glass eyes pointed in different directions, its face was the sickly pink of diseased gums, and one ear was missing. Its yellow overalls were covered in mystery stains, and its hat looked like it had been chewed on by a rabid beaver. There were gashes in the fabric on its face, arm, and left leg where the stuffing was bleeding out. As the two of them watched, a few more puffs of stuffing popped out and fluttered to the floor, where they immediately dried up, turned to dust, and dissolved in a puff of quiet death. 

The boy paled. 

“Don't worry, it's really fun! Watch!” Mabel popped a coin into the base of the machine. 

The bear-puppet began to shudder. Its arms tried to move, and the left one made a horrible grinding sound and popped clean off. Its jaw opened and closed, and then its head shot straight up, showing all three feet of its extendable metal spine. Its left eye popped out and rolled to the boy's feet. 

He immediately ran away screaming. 

Dan looked up from the cash register. “Ms. Pines? Throw it out.” 

“Excuse _you_ , I've had Bear-O for like thirty years! I'm not throwing it out! And _stop_ that!” She snatched the whittling knife out of his hands. He'd been carving viking runes in the counter again. 

She turned, stepped on the eye, and promptly fell hard onto her back. “OW!” 

 

Ria finished organizing the shirts in the Gift Shop. She put her hands in her hips and looked around, smiling. That's when she noticed there was someone who looked about her age standing over by the snow globes. It was a guy, which made her a little nervous, but she squared her shoulders and marched over to him. She was going to make a friend today, whether he liked it or not!

“That snow globe is an excellent choice,” she said loudly. He jumped. 

“What?” 

“Your item!” she pointed to it. “ARE YOU GOING TO USE IT ON YOUR QUEST?!” 

“Y-you know, maybe not.” He put the snow globe back and walked quickly away. 

“What was that about?” Stan asked, appearing at her elbow with Ford in tow. “Was that, like, some kind of nerdy role play?” 

She sighed. “Not really. I was trying to engage him in small talk, but the second I said 'item' I transitioned into Online Warrior Queen Mode.” 

“That's a thing?” 

Ford looked up. He'd taken to wearing one of the Gift Shop hats, which she thought looked both cute and dorky. “You're working on small talk? But you talk just fine around us all the time.” 

“It's a little different when it's someone your age.” 

Ford nodded seriously. 

“So you wanna practice small talk,” Stan mused. “Hey, Mabel! Where would we go if we knew someone who was socially savvy but couldn't talk to people her own age without reverting to nerdspeak?” 

Mabel, who for some reason was lying on the floor, grinned up at them. “Dare I hear the call for my masterful matchmaking skillz?!” 

“No no no,” Ria said quickly. 

“OH YES THAT'S EVEN BETTER,” Stan said loudly. 

She leaped to her feet. “EXCELLENT! Dan, run the Gift Shop and I'll pay you double for today! Everyone else – _to the mall!_ ”

 

Thirty minutes later, Stan, Ford, Ria, and Mabel stood just inside the mall's entrance. The many flashy store displays encouraged them to buy overpriced items for fashion trends which would end in approximately 2-14 days. Mabel grinned. Now this was the place for romance! 

Ria looked unsure. “Um, everyone...I'm happy with just a friend! I don't need to level up to 'boyfriend'.” 

“Don't be shy, Ria!” Mabel thwacked her on the back. “Get ready to explode a charm bomb on these poor unsuspecting youths!” 

“YEAH!” Stan shouted. “Besides, you can't be any worse at this than Ford!” 

“Hey!” 

“Alright!” Mabel grabbed the coach whistle from around her neck and blew it hard. “Aaaand... _FLIRT!_ ” 

 

Under Mabel's exuberant instruction, Ria approached several people around the mall and attempted to flirt with them. (It felt odd to be looking for a boyfriend, but at least she was still talking to people her own age.) 

Mabel had told her to focus on eye contact, so Ria tried not to blink, but then her eyes started stinging and watering and the guy walked away, drawing his hood up farther over his bald head and muttering weird nonsense. 

Mabel told her to impress boys with her knowledge, so she went up to a young man at Meat Cube and shared detailed information on how to preserve and stuff a pig's body. He vomited. 

Mabel told her to act confident, so Ria went over to a guy in a bookstore and leaned on a shelf. She knocked it over and crushed a small child's teddy bear. Everyoone gave her a dirty look. 

Things only went downhill from there. 

After her seventh attempt at flirtation, during which Ria knocked over a soda and accidentally splashed it into three people's eyes at once, Ria was ready to permanently exile herself from the mall. 

“Are you kidding?!” Mabel asked incredulously. “But we only just got started!” 

“Well...maybe we can take a break.” _Forever._

Mabel sighed deeply. “Oh, fine. Romance _does_ work up a healthy appetite. Where'd those kids run off to, anyway?” 

“Hmmm...” Ria looked around. “We're probably looking for a place that has deep-fried foods, mindless video games, and flashing lights to distract people from the fact that they are wasting their lives in a meaningless pursuit of transitory happiness.” 

Mabel snapped her fingers. “I know _exactly_ where they are!” 

 

 _Ping! Ping! Ping!_

“ _New high scoooore!_ ” 

“YES!” Stan fist-pumped as the game spat out ten more tickets. “Dude! I'm totally _ruling_ at this game! Hey Ford, you want a turn?” 

“Maybe later.” 

Stan looked down. His bro-bro was sitting on the sticky carpet, his back pressed against the machine, his head in his hands. Hoo Ha's Jamboree was pretty dark except for all the flashing lights, which played over Ford's hat like a mutating sunset. 

“Geez, dude, you're depressing just to look at. We got the bad guy, alright? Bill's not gonna get you on my watch, so relax and have some fun!” 

“ _'Relax'_?” Ford looked up, sputtering. “' _RELAX'?!_ Stanley, the second I take this hat off my brain is fair game for a demon! How exactly am I supposed to relax?!” 

Stan shrugged. “Play a mindless video games?” 

Ford shoved the hat further over his eyes and stuffed his hands in his jacket. 

Stan crouched down. “Look, dude, why don't you just try it? This is just like the flirty thing with Ria. She didn't want to do it, but you know she's probably out there having a great time.” 

“Hey guys!” 

They looked up. Ria walked over, waving. Mabel was looking around at everything and gawking like one of her tourists. 

“What is this living nightmare?” Mabel asked. “And why do kids love it so much?” 

Stan pointed. “I'ma say...talking robot animals?” 

The floor show was just starting. Hoo Ha's had a game section and an eating section, with a stage set up in the middle so you could see it from anywhere in the room. The curtains on the stage pulled apart and pale steam hissed across the stage floor. A band of fully automated musical robots slid out – Pizza Bear, Hoo Ha the Owl, Banjo Beaver, Frog the Drummer, and the star of the show, Willy Badger, with an electric guitar in the shape of a pizza. 

Stan grabbed Ford and dragged him closer, joining the mob of kids around the stage. 

“Stan, I don't –”

“Can't hear you!” 

“WHO WANTS TO GET BAAADGERRRED?!” Willy shouted. 

The crowd went wild. Stanley shouted and jumped up and down, accidentally-on-purpose knocking over a few toddlers just for the fun of it. 

“NOW GIVE ME YOUR MONEEEEYAAAH!” 

Stan darted forward like he was going to stick cash in Willy's outstretched hat. He slipped a few bills _out_ of his hand instead, stuffed the cash into his pockets, and went back to Ford. Ria had come up to stand with him, watching the band thoughtfully. 

“Now tell me this wasn't fun,” Stan said, grinning at his brother. 

“It really wasn't.” 

“I don't know,” Ria said slowly. “It's not exactly taxidermy-level, but I _do_ find it interesting that they combined automated machinery with anthropomorphic animals to create an attraction which resonates with audiences ages 8 to 80.” 

Stan stared at her. “Wow. Flirting went that good, huh?” 

She looked flustered. “I don't nerdspeak only when I'm nervous!” 

“You totally do.” 

“And can we not call it 'nerdspeak'?” Ford put in. “Where's Mabel, anyway?” 

Ria shrugged. “She went to talk to the manager. Something about trading Bear-O for one of those automatons.” 

“You guys are such party killers!” Stan said, exasperated. “Look, if I buy you each a toy, will you cheer up? Because my other options are – well I can't think of any but they'll probably involve explosives.” 

“Toys are fine,” they said quickly. 

They went over to the prize counter. Stan slapped his tickets – forty in all – on the counter. It was manned by a bored-looking girl who was picking her nose. 

“Hey, loser! I wanna prize!” He pointed to a large stuffed elephant with lasers built into its tusks. 

She looked at the tickets and scoffed. “You want a mood ring? 'Cuz that's all forty tickets'll get you.”

“That's _it!?_ That is such a rip-off!” 

“It's fine, Stanley, really,” Ria said. “Let's just take the mood ring and go.” 

“NO WAY! I want something mechanical that involves massive amounts of destruction!” 

The girl smirked. “Well, you could have _this_.” She pulled something out from under the counter and held it out. It was a video game called Romance Academy, with an anime girl on the cover. The caption read, “Learn How to Become a Love Warrior!!” 

Stan eyed it. “How much for the junk game?” 

“Tell you what, loser, you can have it for free.” 

“SWEET!” 

“Wait, wait, Stan,” Ford said quickly. “What's that note on the back?” 

Stan grabbed the game and flipped it over. 

_Destroy at all costs._

“Maaaaybe we should leave that,” Ria said. “Seriously, let's just get the mood ring.” 

“Fine. Loser, get the lady a mood ring.” He grabbed Ford's arm. “C'mon, bro, let's go find Mabel and get her to fund our new arcade game addiction! If we're lucky, we'll be here so long we can guilt trip her into buying dinner here, too!” 

 

After Ria put her abuelito to bed that night, she sat down in front of her computer with a sigh. Normally, she'd be knitting another doily right now, but somehow she didn't even have the energy for that. She looked up at the ceiling. 

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the people in her life. Ms. Pines was funny and business-savvy, Manly Dan was funny, and Seandra was so clever, and Stan was so creative and energetic, and Ford – well, actually, Ford had seemed a little off today. A lot like Ria, actually. The two of them had been dragged around and forced to try and have a good time. She felt badly that she hadn't noticed. She'd have to keep a special eye on him tomorrow, make a few extra batches of her butterscotch cookies. She'd eaten Mabel's cooking and she knew Stan and Ford sometimes relied solely on her cookies just to survive the day. The thought made her smile. 

Then she realized that besides her abuelito, she didn't really have anyone to share this with. She wasn't even all that close with Sophia. The smile fell off her face. 

_A friend would be nice_ , she thought to herself. _I don't think I actually need a boyfriend. Just someone I could talk to._

She sat up straight in her chair. Well, like Ms. Pines always said: when one door closes, choose a nearby wall and bash it in with brute force. Ria decided she could start a knitting club in Gravity Falls. It would probably just attract a lot of older women, but so what? Friendship didn't have anything to do with age. She could contact the library to see if she could hold club meetings there, and she could make a knitted sign for it to hang on her truck tomorrow. 

She smiled, logged on to her computer, and started typing. She had a lot of work to do! 

 

Stan sat on his bed and pulled out the video game from the arcade. “Al-right! Time to play games and zone out! You wanna join me, Ford?” 

“Can't.” 

“Why not?” 

“Busy.” 

Stan looked over at him. Ford was sitting on his bed with sheets of paper spread out in front of him, all covered with letters, symbols, numbers, and equations. He'd even found some chalk somewhere and drawn nerd stuff right on the wall. 

“What is all this stuff, anyway?” Stan asked, getting up and walking over to his brother. He picked up a piece of paper and squinted at it. “This some kinda alien code?” 

“You're close. It's the code we found by the Crystals. It uses the same symbols as the...”

“The what?” 

Ford looked hard at his notes, head down. His face burned red with shame. “The...inscription used. That I found. In a cave. To summon Bill.” 

Stan whacked him on the head. 

“HEY!” Ford clapped a hand to his hat. “Stop it, you almost knocked it off!” 

“Would _you_ knock it off?” Stan countered. “Look, I'll happily admit that your obsession with the paranormal led to the biggest mistake of your life. But we _stopped_ him. And if that stupid triangle ever shows up again, I'll punch it in the face. And you're smart, Ford. If this code has the answer to beating him permanently, then you'll figure it out no problem.” 

Ford shook his head. “I've been working on it for a while, though. This thing's as cryptic as Enigma.” 

“So ask Fiddlenerd for help.” 

“I...haven't seen him around.” 

Stan shrugged. “Personally, I think your brain could use the break. Come to the living room and play the dating game with me. There will be soda, chips, and cute digital babes! Plus you _know_ this is the one game where I can probably beat you.” 

Ford laughed. “And that's an incentive how, exactly? You play the game, Stan. I want to work on this a little longer.” 

“Suit yourself.” He gave Ford a last playful punch on the shoulder, then headed down the stairs. 

 

Ford continued working on the code for hours, but he made very little progress. The most he'd been able to determine was that the code was written in English. Not even Old English, either – modern English, as in the last 100 years. He wondered who had written it. A human? Or some other demon like Bill, but who worked as Bill's enemy? Perhaps even the author himself? 

Finally he sat up, cracking his back, and checked the clock. 1 AM. No wonder he felt so tired. But how could he sleep when Bill could possess him any time? He had to at least stay awake until Stan came back upstairs. Then if anything happened, Stan would be there to wake him up. Maybe they should even tie Ford to the bed or something, just in case. Although he could imagine how that would look to Mabel if she happened to check on them. 

He leaned against the wall, careful to avoid the chalk equations he'd drawn up several hours ago. It had taken him a while to come up with because he was so tired. He couldn't afford to fall asleep yet, though. The hat was working so far. But if he fell asleep, and it somehow rolled off of him...he'd be fair game for Bill. 

His back ached. Ford turned so that he was pressed against the slanted wall and rested his head on his knees, making sure to keep the hat firmly over his hair. His eyes itched, and his right eye in particular throbbed. He closed them, certain the pain would keep them awake. 

And then he opened them and the room was full of morning sunlight. 

“Wha – AH! _AAAH!_ ” 

Ford jolted to his feet, snagged his leg on a blanket and went sprawling on the floor in a flurry of looseleaf notebook paper. He scrambled up, checking himself for mysterious injuries, his hands for cryptic writing, but there was nothing. Then he checked his head. 

_THE HAT WAS OFF._

Had it fallen off when he'd leaped off the bed, or had Bill managed to possess him in his sleep? What if he'd done something to Stan or Mabel or – 

“Stan!” Ford yelled, sprinting for the stairs. “STAN! STANLEY!” 

He skidded to the stairs, slid down the banister, tore into the living room – and stopped short. 

Stanley was sitting on the carpet in front of the television. Empty chip bags and crushed soda cans were piled around him like multicolored snowdrifts. (Waddles was lying a few feet away, oinking and rooting through a bag for spare crumbs.) There was also a small hand mirror and, for some reason, a can opener next to Stan's leg. Stan had a controller in his hand and was staring avidly at the screen, laughing, his eyes bloodshot but grinning like he'd just scored ten hot dates in a row. 

“So then I said – 'Where's _your_ ID, ugly?' That's how I got one of my molars knocked out!” 

A robotic laugh came from the TV. “HA-HA, you are so funny!” 

“I know right?” 

Ford leaned against the wall, sagging with relief. Bill hadn't touched him. They were okay. 

Wait...

“Stan, where's Mabel?” 

“Uh, mall, I think?” He clicked through the controls and the TV meow'd at him. “Aw, sweet! Compliments work like a charm!” 

Ford took a deep breath. He was relieved, but he knew they'd just gotten lucky – the hat had probably come off a split-second before he woke up. He'd have to figure out some way to make sure it stayed on, even if he tossed and turned. 

He was about to open his mouth to ask Stanley for suggestions when he got a better look at his brother's face. 

“Stan, have you been down here all night?” 

Stan turned to look at him. “Ford, this game is _amazing_. It talks back to you like it's actually alive. And we went on like five consecutive dates!”

“Yeah, okay, now I'm seeing why you're always telling me to go to sleep.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Ford pointed to the mirror. Stan looked, then let out a yell. His face was pale and his eyes were red and glassy with huge bags under them. 

“Wow.” 

“You smell pretty rank, too,” Ford added. 

“Yeah...all that and I _still_ look good!” He turned and grinned at the screen. “Right, Giffany?” 

“You are so handsome, Stanley!” 

“Thanks, doll!” 

“Okay, intervention time.” Ford stepped forward and turned off the television. Stan yelped and tried to stop him, but apparently his butt was too numb from sitting on the floor all night and he just fell over. Ford grabbed his brother's arm. “You know how you told me I need to take a break from that code? Well now I'm telling you it's your turn to take a break from video games.” 

“Wait wait nooooo!” Stan protested, as Ford dragged him out the door. “I'll be back, Giffany! I'll call you!” 

“It's a game, Stan,” Ford said. “It's not like it's going anywhere.” 

 

“Alright, Ria! I hope you got a good night's sleep, because it's time to _date, date, date!_ ” 

Ria glanced uncertainly at the mall goers. They had returned to the scene of Ria's recent embarrassments, and she was not looking to repeat them. 

“Um, Ms. Pines...it's really sweet of you to do this, but – I don't think this is what's right for me.” 

“Don't worry, Ria! Love is one of the most wonderful, liberating experiences of your life. And if it doesn't work out, FORCE IT!” She grabbed Ria's hand and started dragging her towards the food court. 

“But – Ms. Pines – wait!” Ria stopped short and Mabel jerked backwards. Ria let go and looked at her anxiously. “Ms. Pines, I really do not want to disappoint you. But this flirting is mortifying. And it's just not me. I don't even like the mall, just the yarn store. I like going to the post office with my abuelito and working at the Shack and knitting multi-limbed sweaters with you. I even started a knitting club online last night – look!” Ria pulled out her phone and flipped to the internet app. “I'm sorry, I'm not trying to disappoint you, but _this_ is who I am.” 

“Ria, I'm not dis– whoa wait, wait, _you're_ 'KnittingNerdQueen2000'?!”

“Uh –” 

“I signed up for the club last night! I was going to suggest it to you today, this is amazing!” Mabel grabbed Ria's hand and started jumping up and down. 

“S-so you're n-not m-m-mad?” Ria asked, vibrating a little with the force of Mabel's jumping. 

“What for? This was supposed to be _fun bonding time_ and now we can have _fun bonding time_ while we talk about how to make an enormous knitted banner for the club where we will make friends and have _FUN BONDING TIME!!_ ” 

“You mean it?” 

“Of course!” Mabel started dragging Ria to the food court again. “C'mon – let's go mix Panda Bowl with McRonald's for brain food and figure out ways to advertise your club!” 

Ria laughed and hurried to keep up. 

 

Ford and Stan sat in the identical chairs of a race car game at Hoo Ha's. It was pretty lame – some kind of candy-themed race track with a bunch of characters colored to look like made-up sugary stuff. But there were cars that went fast, and it was two-player, so both of them could play at once. Unfortunately, Ford seemed to be losing. Badly. 

“Ah, geez,” he groaned, as his vehicle crashed for the fifth time in the row. “Why do you get the left seat? The joystick's stuck on this one.” 

“Dude. I beat you like five times in that seat until you _begged_ me to switch.” 

“Well maybe this machine is haunted and it hates me.” 

Stan laughed and popped in another fifty cents. The game started up again. “Still not seeing how taking me to Hoo Ha's is, y'know, taking an actual break from video games.” 

“At least you're talking to someone other than the TV screen,” Ford said distractedly, making his avatar accelerate as the next round started. “You looked as bad as I did that one time I stayed up all night reading dissertations. Plus when I came downstairs, you were talking to the TV like you expected it to talk back.” 

“You brought Rumble to life and you are surprised that I found another living video game character?” 

“I had to type in a – agh, dang it – a code to bring Rumble out of the game. It wasn't an actual AI. The odds of finding one of those is so miniscule as to be practically zero.”

Stan sighed. “Whatever. Real or not, at least it's _some_ thing. Man I sound pathetic right now. I wish I had a _real_ girlfriend, but I'm even worse than Ria at picking up dates, and that's saying something. I mean, is Dad right about me? Am I that disposable or what?”

“Aw, cheer up, Stan. You don't need a fake girlfriend just to – _dang_ it!” Ford's car hid another racer. His avatar immediately flipped three times, landed upside down, and burst into flames. He shuddered and clapped a hand to his head. 

Stan glanced over. “Hat's on, relax.” 

“I know.” 

“What a pair we make, huh? I can't get the girls to come near me, and you can't get the demon to leave you alone. Too bad we can't switch around a little.” 

Ford punched him lightly. “Don't even joke. Saying stuff like that, in this town, you'll jinx us for sure.” 

Stan laughed and they went back to playing. 

His brother was right, Ford reflected. It really did help to try and get away from all the “nerd stuff” now and then. He'd been working so hard on the perpetual motion machine, and then on trying to stop Bill, to say nothing of cracking that code from the Crystals – it was nice to take a break for once and do something totally mindless and normal. 

He heard Stan make a sort of muted squeak. “Uh, Ford...let's say, uh, hypothetically, that my video game really _did_ have an A.I. in it. What're the chances of it appearing on this particular screen?” 

“What, right now?” Ford struggled to get his car around a tight curve. “I don't know – if there really _was_ an AI, I'd have to say pretty good chances, because all it would need was an electrical current to transmit its code to the closest modem large enough to handle it. I think we'd know if that happened, though – it would probably just pop up on your video screen.” 

“So...like that?” 

Ford looked up. Stan's video screen was filled with the pixelated image of the anime character on the video game, complete with starry highlights in her eyes. And she looked _very_ angry. 

Ford swallowed. “Well, uh, maybe she can't do anything?” He gave a nervous laugh These games don't have a lot of memory. She'd have to hack into the memories of the other games and maybe even the animatronics just to store its code –”

Immediately all of the video games in the arcade lit up with the same face. Some of the other kids stopped and stared at the screen, but a few got mad and started raging against their machines. 

Stan leaned away from the screen. “Oh, sure give it ideas!” 

“Me? What did you do to it to make it so mad?!” 

“Nothing, I swear! We just stayed up and talked all night!” Stan looked back at his race car screen. “Right, Giffany?”

Captions appeared under the screen, first in Japanese, then in misspelled english. 

_A REAL GIRLFREND?? YOU WANT A REAL GIRLFRIEND??!@%!@!_

“You heard that? I-I mean I just went to play video games!” 

_YES_. OTHER _VIDEO GAMES._

Suddenly a bolt of green lightning shot out of the video games and through the cables along the walls. The lightning moved to the stage at the far end of the room, where the curtains were just pulling back for the hourly floor show. The animatronic monstrosities whirred forward and started to play. Pizza bear hyucked, Frog the Drummer beat his drums, and Hoo Ha the Owl strummed his banjo mechanically. Willy Badger's sunglasses glinted ominously. 

“Hoo-Hoo-Hoo!” the owl sang. “Who wants to hear Hoo-Ha the Owwwllllll...” 

The Owl seemed to shudder and spark, and its song died with a metallic croak. The stage lights dimmed and a spotlight flicked on, illuminating a fourth figure at the back of the stage – some kind of wall-eyed squirrel in a cheerleader's costume. It held a guitar in its arms. 

“Hello, friends.” Giffany's voice came out of the squirrel's mouth. “Hoo-Ha the Owl is dead.” 

Stan grabbed Ford's hand. “Okay, now reeeal slow, when I give the signal...”

“This next song goes out to my forever boyfriend, Stan.” Giffany's squirrel head turned slowly to look at them, its eyes glowing. 

“RUN!” 

The two of them sprinted for the exit. 

Giffany called after them. “The only way out is IN MY ARMS!” 

Stan glanced back over his shoulder as Giffany snapped her fingers. The other animatronics twitched and their eyes glowed. The audience screamed and raced to get out, nearly crushing Stan and Ford. Ford yelled as someone shoved their knee into his back. They were pushed up against the wall. Stan braced an arm over Ford to keep anyone from knocking his hat off. 

The robots were already off the stage, advancing like hokey mechanical zombies. Stan yelled and they grabbed each other and ran, but the huge metal gates slammed shut, sealing them inside. 

Stan threw an arm in front of Ford. “Get back!” he yelled at Giffany. “I am NO WAY kissing squirrel lips!” 

She smiled creepily. “You'll learn to like it!” 

They screamed. 

 

Mabel and Ria sat at a table in the food court, a stack of empty styrofoam containers shoved to one end of it, as they debated what they could do to advertise The Knitting Nerds. 

“– and then I'm thinking we could even knit a hot air balloon,” Mabel said. “Maybe we could put our banner on that!” 

Ria chuckled. “I'm not sure we can knit an actual hot air balloon. The hot air would probably escape through the weave. But what if we knitted a sweater so big you could see it from _space?_ ” 

Mabel slapped the table. “I LIKE IT!” 

“Well we don't,” snapped someone at another table. “Wouldja keep it down a little?” 

“Don't worry, fellow food consumer! I have ingested a horrifying amount of Chow Mein and am now in desperate need of a restroom!” She leaped to her feet. “Ria, get whatever you need for the sweater and I'll meet you in the yarn store!” She immediately dashed off, purple pumps flashing as she darted through the tables towards the restroom. 

Ria laughed. She stood, gathered the empty food containers, and walked them over to the trash can. She'd been more anxious than she'd admitted to herself when she told Ms. Pines she didn't want to flirt, but she was delighted with how things had turned out. She'd get quality bonding time with her mo – er, Ms. Pines, and maybe she'd even get a friend or two!

Humming happily to herself, Ria headed over to the store. 

Off the Hook wasn't much more than a hole in the wall, slightly smaller than Ria's living room. But it was well-lit, tidy, and stacked from floor to ceiling with skeins of yarn, in every color and fiber imaginable. In the center of the room were two blush-pink sofa chairs, arranged to face each other, and the cash register along the far wall rested on a counter displaying a range of knitting needles (made of everything from polished oak to unicorn horn, but Ria wasn't sure she believed that last bit. She was pretty sure unicorn horns lit up.) 

Ria picked up a basket from the front of the store and worked her way back, choosing yarns for a variety of crafting projects. She was debating picking out a yarn that had an alternating white-and-green pattern dyed into it when she heard a chuckle. 

“You're not thinking of making a checkerboard pattern with that, are you?” 

Ria looked up, surprised. Normally the cashier was a rather elderly woman covered with cat hair, but today there was someone new behind the counter – someone slimmer, younger, and definitely masculine. 

He smiled at her. “I actually tried to do that, once,” he said. “Make a checkerboard pattern, I mean. It didn't work out so well.” 

“Oh?” 

“No. I made a zig-zag.” 

Ria laughed. “That might be just as interesting,” she said with a smile. 

He walked over. “I'm Cole, by the way.” 

“Ria.” They shook hands. “I don't recall seeing you here before.” 

“Yeah, my grandma – the woman who normally works here – her diabetes has her on bedrest for a bit. I came up to help her out.” 

“I'm sorry to hear she's not doing well.” 

Cole nodded. “She'll be alright, she's pretty smart about her health. The worst part is the boredom. I mean I'm here in the shop interacting with people all day, and she's stuck at home watching sitcoms.” 

“Does she, by chance, like to knit?” 

Cole looked slightly surprised. “Well, sure. She's this place's biggest customer, aside from some lady named Maple Tree.” 

Ria brightened. “Mabel Pines, that's my boss! We're actually thinking of starting a knitting club, which is why I'm here picking up yarn today. Do you think your grandmother would be interested if we brought the club to her home?” 

Cole's whole face lit up. “Are you _kidding!?_ She would love that! How many members do you have so far? When are you planning to meet?” 

“We only started it up last night, but with your grandma we have three members.” 

“Four – I want in on the action! Do you think we could knit a sign for the club and hang it in the window?” 

Ria gasped. “That would be _perfect!_ ” 

 

Frog the Drummer moved in on them, robot eyes glowing red, banging his drums ominously. Stan and Ford shoved themselves away from each other right as the drums came down, darting around the frog and sprinting as fast as they could towards the prize counter.

“Sorry, Stan,” Crazy Squirrel Giffany sang. “But you can't run away from our relationship!” 

“WATCH ME!” 

Stan grabbed his brother's arm and ran faster. Giffany zapped the basketball games with lightning and they started spitting high-velocity balls. Ford yelled and slowed, grabbing his hat firmly with one hand. Stan yanked him down hard and they made it behind the counter just in time to avoid most of the ammo. 

“What do we do, what do we do!?” Stan asked. 

“How'm I supposed to know?” 

“You brought a video game to life once!” 

“That was _one time!_ ” 

A low chuckle made them look up. Pizza Bear loomed over them, cymbals spread wide, eyes glowing blood red. “I'm gonna eat your face like pizza!” 

They screamed and scrambled away as the cymbals came clashing together. 

Stan bolted out from behind the counter and hid behind _Fortress Fort_. “ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Stan shouted at Giffany. “I can't be your boyfriend if I'm a pancake!” 

Giffany stalked slowly towards him. She was still in Squirrel Form, but her pink-haired self appeared on the other video game monitors as she passed. She smiled sweetly at him. “Oh, I _am_ crazy...crazy for you, Stan!” 

 

Ria was ringing up her purchases when screams reached her ears. She and Cole turned to the front of the shop. Mall-goers were running past the glass windows, yelling and almost trampling each other. 

“The end is upon us!” 

“The puppets! THEY'RE ALIVE!” 

“What is _that_ about?” Ria asked. 

Cole looked worried. “I don't know. The only puppets I know of are –”

“HELLO!” 

They both jumped and Cole let out a very high-pitched scream. Mabel popped up next to Cole behind the counter, grinning. In one hand she held the less-than-pristine Bear-O puppet. 

Cole sputtered. 

“Ah – Cole, this is Mrs. Pines!” Ria said brightly. “Mrs. Pines, this is Cole. His grandma's resting up at home, so we thought we could hold the knitting club there and keep her company! What do you think?” 

Mabel moved the puppet's mouth. “That sounds _bear-iffic!_ ”

Cole turned green, but cleared his throat and nodded. “Thank you. I'm sure, uh, my grandma will get a lot of entertainment value out of the knitting sessions.” He glanced back at the mall. “I take it the other shoppers saw, uh...” He gestured to the puppet. 

“Bear-O! The Un-Bear-lievable Bear! And yes, yes they did! Unfortunately, they did not appreciate the beardom...” An impish look came over her face. “So I'm going to upload Bear-O's program into the puppets at Hoo Ha owls! We shall PROVE that Bear-O isn't that scary – oh come on!” She turned and scowled at the shop's windows, where people were still running past in a panic. “I just _said_ he's not that –”

CLANG! 

The three of them jumped.

“What was that?” Ria asked. 

“It sounded like a security curtain came down in one of the shops,” Cole said. He hurried out from behind the counter. “C'mon – we have to make sure no one's hurt!” 

They ran out of the yarn store and ran down the mall's main corridor. The mall goers had long since vacated the area, leaving all the stores wide open and unattended – except for Hoo Ha Owl's. The security curtain was down and there were loud bangs and screams coming from inside. In fact, it sounded like two people screaming. Two young and terrified boys.

Ria blinked. “Are those –”

“THE KIDS!” Mabel bolted for the curtain with the other two behind her. She banged on the metal, then stuffed the head of the Bear-O puppet under the metal curtain and somehow wrenched it up a good 5 inches. They ducked down to look. 

It looked like a war zone. Game consoles knocked over, pizza boxes scattered everywhere, marinara sauce splattered like something out of a crime scene. And the animatronic puppets had gone nuts-and-bolts crazy. Their eyes glowed and they wielded their instruments like weapons of musical destruction. The squirrel seemed to be the leader. Her electric eyes gleamed like a serial killer's – and she was staring right at Stan and Ford, crouched behind _Fortress Fort._

“KIDS!”

“GRAUNTIE MABEL!” 

They shot toward her at full speed – and nearly got their noses sliced off by Pizza Bear's cymbals. They stumbled back with a yell. 

“ _There_ you are!” 

Crazy Squirrel Puppet stepped around a vending machine and stretched out her hand. Soda cans shot out of it like carbonated missiles, forcing Stan and Ford back for cover. Giffany flicked her furry squirrel fingers and the metal security door lit up with blue lightning.

“Sorry,” Squirrel chirped, “but this is a private party!” 

The door slammed down, and the electric shock hit them in the chest like sledgehammers. They were blown five feet from the door. 

Mabel was first on her feet, the Bear-O puppet still in one hand. “We have to get in there!” 

“The back door,” Cole gasped, clutching his chest. “We're not supposed to tell anyone, but all the back doors to the shops use the same lock. I can get us in!” 

 

“I can't keep this up,” Ford gasped. 

He and Stan had made a temporary Fort Stan out of knocked-over game consoles and a few empty pizza boxes, but they knew the animatronics would find them eventually. Stan glanced at his brother. Ford had one hand clutching his chest and the other clamping his foil-lined hat to his head. Poor nerd probably hadn't done this much running since...well, ever.

Stan weighed a can of soda in his hand. He'd shaken it pretty good and was hoping it would take out a robot if it got close enough. “Okay, count of three, we run outta here in different directions. You head for the front door and pick the lock or something, I'll distract her long enough so you can get away.” 

“I – I could use a lever to prop the door up,” Ford said uncertainly. “But Stan –”

The back of their fort was ripped away and Willy Badger stuck his head in. “WHO WANTS TO GET BAAAADGERRRED!” 

They screamed and Stan popped the can of soda right in its face. The robot gave an electric shriek as the two of them scrambled away. Stan headed deeper into the shop and didn't look back. He could hear Ford pounding towards the exit and he had to keep Giffany distracted. 

She was standing in the middle of the shop and her head swiveled towards him. 

“HEY GIFFANY! MORE LIKE PIMPLEY!” 

“ _You are destined to be mine, Stanley!_ ”

“Says you!” He veered toward the kitchen. She followed him just like he knew he would, her red eyes burning with anger and focused only on him. Perfect!

...Oh, wait. He'd just goaded a psycho robot. Not so perfect. 

The kitchen was empty and full of pots and pans, the knives all hung up on neat rows near the ceiling. He scrambled to get up on a counter to reach them but suddenly the ovens and toasters came to life and shot fire at him. He yelled and fell to the floor, his clothes singed. 

Giffany entered the room. “Hungry for a snack, Stanley?” she asked sweetly. 

He yelled and scrambled to the back of the kitchen – which was a dead end with yet another oven in it. It opened as he ran towards it and he screeched to a halt, spinning around. 

Giffany wasn't looking at him. For a second he thought it might be some kind of trap. Then he followed her gaze. 

The one wall of the kitchen was set up to monitor the rest of the Jamboree – it had TV monitors in one corner, for the security tapes, and a big glass window to keep an eye on the ball pit. 

The remaining animatronics had lined up along the far side of the ball pit, and the big bear one was holding Ford in its shaggy paws. They'd caught him. 

That was bad enough. But Ford was struggling so hard that the animatronic holding him started shaking him to make Ford stop. His head jerked back and forth and his hat fell off and into the balls below. Ford screamed. 

“Stan! STANLEY! STANLEY, HELP ME!” 

Stan turned white.

“Please, let my brother go, I'll do whatever you want!” 

She advanced on him. “I seem to remember someone promising to be my boyfriend. Think about it!” She gestured to the TV, which turned on and showed a pixelated scene of Marilyn yelling at him at the theater. “Real girls are unpredictable,” Giffany said. “They _judge_ you.” The scene changed to show Carla slamming her front door in Stan's face. “Do you really think any of those girls will ever want you back? Do you think any girl would want _you?_ ” 

Stan's stomach felt cold and hot at the same time. 

Giffany held up one hand and a thumb drive extended from her index finger. “I can put you in the game with me, and we can be together – _forever_.” 

The thumb drive lengthened, reaching out towards Stan. He gave a yell and backed up until he hit the oven door. 

Giffany tilted her head. “What do you say?” 

“I say –” He patted his pockets, but he had nothing in there but a few wads of gum and some leftover quarters. “Uh...can I get back to you on that?” 

“Of course!” 

“Wait really?” 

“Oh yes! We can talk about it on our next date!” 

The thumb drive zoomed towards him and Stan ducked, banging his head on the handle of the oven and flipping it open. The thumb drive shot into the hot yellow flames and Giffany squealed with pain, but before she could retract it Stan jumped to his feet and head-butted the oven door shut. The thumb drive snapped off and Giffany staggered back, her finger – and eyes – shooting angry red sparks. 

Stan dove behind the counter for cover but her other hand darted out and caught his arm. She spun him around and pinned him to the wall, her crazy eyes inches from his face. 

“Come on, Stan,” she cooed. “Don't make me delete you, too! What do you say?”

He swallowed and opened his mouth – 

And then Giffany screamed, her body stiffening. Blue lightning shot up and down her robot limbs and she backed away, screeching. One of her feet started spinning wildly in its socket and she punched herself repeatedly in the face. 

“ATTENTION, HOO HA OWL'S!” Grauntie Mabel's voice boomed over the intercom. “WE INTERRPUT YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED KILLING SPREE TO BRING YOU BEAR-O, THE UNBEAR-LEIVABLE BEAR!” 

Immediately the animatronics holding Ford hostage dropped him into the ball pit. They shuddered horribly, then raised their left arms. 

“No, no, no!” Giffany wailed, as her left arm did the exact same thing. “I will – de-de-destroy- _date_ you-you-you –”

And then her red eyes went dark and all four animatronics shuddered again, raised their right arms – and then their heads shook so badly they popped right off their robot necks and shot towards the ceiling, embedding themselves in the cheap ceiling tile like mutant disco balls. Their robot bodies just keeled over. 

Stan stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he ran to the ball pit. 

Ford was struggling to reach his hat, but the guy was shaking so badly he couldn't go more than a few inches at a time. Stan took a flying leap and jumped right between Ford and the hat. He grabbed it, handed it to his brother, and the hauled them out of the ball pit. Ford lay there, flat on his back, hands clamped to his head, still shaking from head to toe. He looked pale enough to pass out. 

“Th-tha-than-” Ford stammered. 

Stan shrugged. “Don't mention it. Payback for when you fished me out of the pool. But I am so not doing CPR, that is where I draw the line.” He helped his brother sit up. 

Mabel, Ria, and some other guy ran up to them. Mabel had that creepy puppet on one hand and her face was tense with worry. 

“Kids! Are you okay?! What happened?” 

“Uh – I don't know, the robots just exploded!” Stan said, glancing around nervously. The last thing he wanted to do was say that this mess was his fault. “I mean, did you see them with the crazy eyes? And then their heads just went POP!” 

“Ah.” Mabel smiled with satisfaction and held up Bear-O, the creepy puppet Stan had not yet managed to burn. “ _That_ was courtesy of Bear-O the mighty! I just uploaded his program into all the other robots, and POW! They couldn't handle the awesome!” 

Ford got to his feet. “We should probably here,” he said shakily. “Someone's going to have to pay for the damages –”

“Not me!” Mabel tore off for the exit. 

“Right behind you!” Stan grabbed Ford and hurried after Mabel. “Also, on an unrelated note, there's a video game in the TV at home I should probably burn.” 

She glanced back. “Really? Why?” 

“No reason!” 

 

A few hours later, Ria finished helping Cole close up the _Off the Hook_. She'd stayed behind because she was worried about how Cole, but though he seemed a bit shaken, he had recovered quickly and was calm enough to speak to the police about what happened. (Not that the Sheriff and Johnson were too concerned. They were much more interested in how to make the robots come back to life and fight each other.) 

“Are you sure you're doing alright?” Ria asked, holding a bag of yarn purchases in each hand as Cole locked the shop door. 

He shrugged. “In my junior year of high school I once saw the swim team and the track team dress up in full-on Gladiator gear and beat each other with foam pool noodles. And the noodles were full of actual uncooked spaghetti noodles.” 

Ria laughed. “Sounds like my kind of high school! Tell you what, if you want we can stop by the Gravity Falls pool tomorrow and reenact it.” 

“Uh...” He glanced down. “Is, um, is that a date? Because I'm flattered, but I'm not actually – I've never actually been on a date before.” 

“Really?” 

Cole turned bright red. 

“Oh – please don't take that the wrong way,” Ria said quickly. “You just seem so nice that I was surprised. Actually, I've never been on a date either.” 

His eyebrows went up. “You're kidding! But you're so sweet and brave!” 

She blushed. “Thank you. Well – speaking of dates, my cousin's engagement part is coming up, and I'd like to not have to go alone. Would you be interested? It doesn't have to be a date, just a couple of friends. There will be lots of cake and zero robot badgers.” 

He grinned. “As long as there are no Gladiators, I'm there.” 

 

Mabel hung up the phone, and turned to Stan and Ford, who were flopped over the kitchen table. She smiled broadly. “Guess what, guys? That was Soos! He said Ria just found her first-ever boyfriend!” 

Stan opened on eye. “Was it that guy we saw in Hoo Ha's like, twenty minutes ago? How would Soos even know about that?” 

“He spies on her for his fanfictions,” Mabel said cheerfully. “Alright you two – go get ready for bed! I'll have my cheddar cheese, pickle, and chicken casserole ready to eat in ten minutes!” 

“All of those things are good but not together,” Ford mumbled. 

“Sh. I got a stash of cheese boodles under my bed,” Stan whispered. He grabbed his brother and almost-literally dragged him up the stairs. 

As soon as they reached their bedroom, Ford grabbed the nearest book and slammed it on his foot. 

“Ow!” 

“Whoa, hey!” Stan snatched the book away. “What d'you think you're doing!?” 

“Trying to stay awake.” Ford rubbed his eyes. “I'm so tired, but I can't – I can't fall asleep. Last night I got lucky. If I rolled over and the hat fell off, and Bill decided to – to have some _fun_ –” His voice was shaky. 

Stan grabbed his shoulders and squeezed. “Chill, Ford, c'mon. It'll be okay. Here –” Stan looked around and grabbed his devil helmet. He tossed it to Ford. “There. You strap that on and it'll keep the hat on your head, okay?” 

Ford strapped it on with trembling fingers and gave a deep sigh of relief. “I never even thought of this. Thanks, Stan.” 

“No prob.” Stan turned away and started digging a bag of boodles out from under his mattress. “Alright, so I'm thinking we stuff our mouths with this, then go downstairs and fake out Grauntie Mabel by feeding the casserole to gompers. And then later maybe we can get some ice cream out of the freezer. What d'you –” He turned around and stopped. Ford had sat down on the floor with his back against the wall and passed out, his glasses still on his face. His head was flopped to one side and he was snoring lightly. 

Stan rolled his eyes, grabbed a blanket, and threw it over his brother. He also grabbed a pile of machine parts from Ford's bed and stacked them in front of their bedroom door. That way, just in case Bill _did_ try something, he'd bang into the booby trap and Stan would hear and come running. 

Satisfied, he headed downstairs, jamming as many boodles as he could into his mouth. He hid the rest under his shirt right before he reached the kitchen. 

Mabel was grinning all mushy-like and singing under her breath. “ _Ria and Co-ole, sittin' in a tree_... Oh, hi, Stan! What happened to Ford?” 

“Got kidnapped by aliens.” 

“Har, har.” She set the casserole on the table. “Welp – that leaves more for you!” 

“Gompers,” Stan called. 

Mabel gave him a Look. “Stan, if you don't like my cooking, just say so.” 

“I don't like your cooking.” 

“Tough toenails, kid! Eat up!” 

_Ack! Stall, stall!_ “So, uh, how about Ria and the new guy, huh?” 

“I _knooow._ ” She sighed. “What I wouldn't give to play matchmaker...say, Stan, aren't you single?” 

_Thanks for the reminder._ “I have no wish to romance a squirrel,” he said aloud. 

“But it almost worked out last time!” Mabel protested. “What about a badger?” 

“No.” 

“Honeybadger?” 

“Hey isn't _Christmas is the Season for Mistletoe Kisses_ on right now?” Stan asked. 

She leaped up. “IT IS AND I FORGOT TO TAPE IT!” She raced into the living room. 

Stan took the opportunity to dump most of the casserole out the kitchen window and into the garbage. Most of it landed on a raccoon, which squeaked in horror and darted off into the forest. Stanley laughed. 

Then he went to the pantry, grabbed a bag of marshmallows and went to join Mabel in the living room. His plan was to get the CD, burn it, hope that Giffany hadn't jumped to another video game before he could, and then sit in the living room with Mabel, zoning out and eating junk food.

He was not thinking about what Giffany had said to him in in the kitchen of Hoo Ha Owl's. He was not thinking about that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I eat comments! Feeeed meee...FEEEED MEEEEE...


	10. Ria and the Real Boy Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of "Real Boys"...

“ – or we could do the starboard side, the part in front? I'm thinking we could put a kitchen in there! Or a billiard table!” 

“I don't think a billiard table's going to fit.” 

“Well, how about a poker table? We could invite mermaids onboard, cheat 'em of all their treasure, and then go on a date with them!” 

Ford grinned. “Somehow I don't think they're going to want to date us after that.” 

“You're probably right – one look at _these_ faces and they'll want to date us right away!” 

Ford laughed. The two of them were on their way to the Stan O' War. It felt like it had been a long time since they'd worked on it, and after the last couple of days, Ford was almost happy about the break from paranormal research. Plus working on the boat was just plain _fun_. 

But as they approached their soon-to-be masterpiece, Ford noticed strange footprints in the sand, leading from the water right up to and even _into_ the open belly of their boat. 

“Stan – look!” 

Stan frowned. “What kind of tracks are those? A snake with feet?” 

“It's not a newt – it almost looks like...a wolf or something?” 

The two of them shared a Look. Then they each grabbed a plank of wood from the stack at the back of the boat. They each went around one side of the boat, the planks raised like bats. They reached the opening in the bottom of the boat. Stan mouthed a countdown – 3...2...1...

“HYAAAAH!” they yelled, springing inside. 

There was a thud and a yelp and a scrabble of claw – and then Ford was knocked down by something small and furry zooming straight into his ankles. He collapsed with a heap. 

“Gotcha!” he heard Stan say. Ford sat up. 

His brother was holding a dog, his hands laced under its furry belly. He held it a good foot away from its body, as it was frantically scrabbling with its black-nailed paws, writhing and squirming to get loose. It had floppy ears, long curly fur the color of rust, and startling hazel eyes. It slobbered and whined. 

Ford blinked. “...A dog?” 

“A _stinky_ dog,” Stan corrected, wrinkling his nose. “Ugh. Nothing worse than wet dog. Bet this thing went for a midnight swim and curled up in here for a nap. Maybe we should just keep it here until someone realizes it's missing and posts a reward for it!” 

“I don't know that it is missing. Look at how scruffy its fur is.” 

The dog chuffed at them.

Stan tucked it under one arm. “Hey – maybe we should just take it to Grauntie Mabel, she loves weird stuff!” 

“How is this dog in any way weird?” 

“Look at its paws!” Stan grabbed its front left leg and lifted it. 

Ford looked closely. It had four stubby toes, analogous to the four fingers on a human hand, along with the heart-shaped “palm”. All typical of a Canis lupus familiaris. His gaze moved up the leg to the dog's vestigal thumb. 

“It's – it's _jointed!_ ” 

“Right? Like an opposite thumb!” 

“Opposable.” 

“Wow, I wonder if it's prehensile!” 

“Hey! I betcha we could teach it to play poker – and cheat! Betcha we could sell the dog to Grauntie Mabel and get it to hold those little maracas! NO WAIT! Betcha we could train it to hold a mop and it could do chores for us!” 

The dog yipped and wriggled to get free. 

“I don't think he likes the idea,” Ford said, taking out his journal. “Hold him still for a second, would you? I want to get a quick ske–”

The dog slipped out of Stan's arms and sprinted down the beach. The two boys shouted and ran after it. It dodged around them, threaded through the park benches and zoomed straight for the Bait Shop, barking furiously. 

The door opened and the woman who worked there stepped out. The dog zoomed straight between her legs and she jumped. 

“What the...?” 

Ford and Stan ran up to her, panting, as the woman bent down. The dog was crouching behind her legs, and it whimpered a little when she picked it up. 

“Is that dog yours?” Ford asked. 

“Because if it is we _totally_ deserve a reward!” Stan added. 

It was hard to tell because of the bangs covering her face, but the lady seemed to raise an eyebrow. “No, it's not mine, but I think I know who it belongs to.” 

“Who?” 

“Never you mind.” The lady stepped back to shut the door. 

“Wait, wait! Can I get a sketch of it first?” Ford asked, holding up his journal. “It has really unusual paws and I wanted to make a record of it and we really _did_ find it so maybe that could be our reward?” 

The puppy chuffed through its nose at him. 

The woman grumbled to herself. “Fine. But don't you bother the dog or I'll kick you straight back out.” 

Stan grumbled under his breath, but he and Ford followed the woman into the shop. 

It was a small space crammed with canned bait, live bait, fake bait, hats, sunglasses, suntan lotion, and general fishing equipment. There was a cushy mat behind the cash register. While the woman went into a back room to make a call, the dog went to the mat and sat down, chuffing through its nose. 

Ford squatted a few feet away and drew furiously. “I can't believe this...I wonder if it's some kind of new breed? Or just a random mutation?”

Stan snorted. “It's certainly butt-ugly enough to be a real dog breed.” 

The dog growled at him. 

Stan blinked. “Hey, I think that dog understood me!” 

“Or it just doesn't like you.” 

“Are you kidding? Look at this awesomeness! What's not to like?” 

The dog chuffed at him. 

The woman came back. “Alright, you gotcher sketch, get outta here. I need room for paying customers. Unless you're going to actually _pay_ for the things you stuffed in your pockets.” 

Ford looked up. Stan did his best to look innocent, but his pockets looked about as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey and equally conspicuous. She grabbed him by the arm. “You. You're waxing the floor until it shines. You” – she pointed to Ford – “you gotcher sketch, get outta here before I decide I want the shelves dusted, too.” 

“But I'm not done –”

“And the cash register fixed, the bathroom cleaned, the lightbulbs –”

“I'm going!” 

Ford hurried outside. 

To his surprise, the dog followed him out, nosing at Ford's ankles. He looked down at it. For a second he wondered if he should tell the woman about it – but this was a golden opportunity to finish the sketch, and possibly examine the dog for further anatomical anomalies. 

“What do you say, boy?” Ford asked. “Do you want to sit for another portrait?”

The dog yipped and immediately jumped onto the nearest picnic table, wagging its tail. 

 

Twenty minutes later, Ford was busily drawing a close-up of its front paws when Stan emerged from the shop. 

“What, you doing portraits or something?” Stan grouched. 

“Oh – Stan! You won't believe this, this dog's amazing! It's got anatomical anomalies I've never even _seen_ before – did you see its ears? And its eyes! Plus when it sits –”

“Charlie! _Charlie!_ ” 

The two of them turned. A girl was running up the shore. She wore a pale yellow sundress dotted with daisies and a matching daisy headband in her dark brown hair. A large canvas bag hung off her shoulder and banged against her waist as she ran. 

The dog sprang off the table so fast it nearly clipped Ford in the head. It raced up to her, yipping furiously, and she scooped it up with a shriek of relief. 

“Well hey now,” Stan said, smoothing back his hair. He sauntered up to her. “Hey there, Sunshine, I take it that's your dog? I found him buried under a rockslide and had to dig him out with my bare hands. No need to thank me.” 

The girl looked him up and down. “And you are...?” 

“Stan Pines, Dog Rescuer, Poker Player –”

“And a guy who probably wasn't going to return him at all unless there was a reward involved,” she said coldly. “Ms. Chu told me all about it on the phone.” 

“Uh – no no, she was talking about this guy!” Stan grabbed Ford's arm and yanked him forward. 

“Hey!” 

Charlie started barking loudly, glaring at Stan. 

“Oh you hush,” the girl said, putting him down. “Honestly, I don't know what you were even doing out here by yourse–”

The dog went right up to Ford and stood up, its front paws on his legs, nosing Ford's book.   
“I – I was just drawing it,” Ford said, opening the journal to show her. That girl had snap in her eyes and he did _not_ want her mad at him. 

She studied the sketch, an inscrutable expression on her face. Then she turned to Charlie. “He drew you?” she asked. 

The dog barked. 

“I knew it!” Stan grabbed Ford's arm, gloating. “I _told_ you that dog can understand English!” 

The girl looked a few shades paler. “Uh, dogs are smart like that. C'mon, Charlie, I brought your – accessories...let's go home and get you dressed up. By ourselves,” she added sharply, when Stan opened his mouth. She opened her bag – it looked like there was a pair of jeans and a bright green shirt inside – and put her dog inside. Then she marched away, back stiff, the dog's snout peeking through the bag's handles. 

“Geez, tough crowd,” Stan muttered. 

Ford rolled his eyes. “You were basically going to kidnap her dog. No wonder she was upset. I wish I'd had more time to study it, though – it actually _could_ move its thumbs, we even shook hands! And its proportions were weird, too, its forelegs were slightly shorter and its shoulders were bulky, and when it sat up it didn't use its front paws to balance itself – it almost moved like an actual person! Hey –” He grabbed Stan's arm. “Stan, what if that dog is actually a werewolf?” 

Stan gave him a Look. “Dude, that's farfetched, even for you. It's probably just a mutant from drinking toxic waste dump.”

“I gotta check, I'll be right back!” He ran into the woods after Cathy. 

He'd only been running for a minute or two when he heard voices up ahead. He quickened his pace. 

“– do anything!” someone was saying. “He thought I looked cool!” 

“I don't care what he thought, you drew attention to yourself!” he heard the girl say. 

“Hey!” Ford called, coming around a bend. “Could I ask you a couple million questions about your do–”

He stopped short. The girl wasn't alone anymore. She was holding hands with a boy who looked about eight or nine years old. He was wearing the exact same clothes the girl had had in her canvas bag. And he was hairy – very hair. There was a faint but unmistakeable mustache tracing his upper lip, and even the tips of his ears and the backs of his hands were fuzzed with hair. And it was exactly the same color as the dog!

Ford gasped. “I knew it, I knew it! He _is_ a werewolf!” 

The girl went pale, but she tried to scoff. “A werewolf? Don't you have anything better to do with your time than make fun of people?”

“Aw, c'mon, Cathy,” the boy said. He turned to Ford. “Can I see the drawing again?” 

“'Again'?” Ford repeated, raising his eyebrows at Cathy. All three of them knew perfectly well that the only people he'd shown it to had been his brother, Cathy, and the dog. 

Cathy put her hand over her eyes. “Stop. Just stop.”

Charlie said again, touching her arm. It was such a puppy-like gesture that for a second Ford thought he was a dog again. “Cathy, c'mon,” he said again. “I know he's not making fun, I can tell the difference.” 

Cathy glared at him. “I don't want to hear anything out of _you_ , Charlie It's your fault you got discovered in the first place! I don't know what you were thinking transforming like that, there wasn't even a full moon last night so I _know_ you did it on purpose –”

“No I didn't!” Charlie cried. “I mean, I sort of didn't. I was just coming home from Ethan's and I heard this singing, and before I knew it I was halfway into the lake, and stuff was grabbing at me, and I got scared – you know it happens sometimes when I'm really scared!”

“Oh, that is such a bunch of baloney –”

“Actually,” Ford cut in, “my brother and I met the siren a couple of weeks ago. It tried to drown me and my brother several times before we escaped.” 

“See?” Charlie said. 

Cathy looked skeptical. 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “What, a werewolf is perfectly plausible but a siren isn't?” 

“Alright,” she conceded. 

Charlie looked relieved. “That's why I changed shape into a dog,” he repeated. “I got scared and panicked. The singing didn't work so great on me then, so I could swim back to shore, but I didn't want to have to go through the forest to get home because you always say it's really dangerous. So I hid in this boat until Ford and his brother found me.” 

Ford was fascinated. “It doesn't work on dogs? But I thought dogs could hear many more frequencies than human beings! So does hearing alone have nothing to do with a siren's call? Or perhaps it has to do with the way the brain processes auditory information! Would you be willing to come to my lab and let me run a few tests on –”

“There's a _lab_ now?” Cathy said. 

“Of course! I built it with...a friend of mine. Perfectly safe! Mostly!” 

She groaned. 

Charlie, on the other hand, smiled at Ford. “It's okay. If my sister hasn't chewed you out by now, it means she likes you.” 

Ford coughed awkwardly.

“Not like _that_ ,” Cathy said sharply. 

“Hey!” called a voice behind them. Ford turned to see Stan coming up the path. “Ford, you find 'em yet or you just get lost?” 

“I found 'em,” Ford called back. He felt a tugging on his arm. 

“Can I see the drawing again?” Charlie asked. 

“Um – sure?” Ford took out his journal and opened it to the werewolf sketches. (He'd have to title the pages later. Had anyone give werewolves a genuine scientific name? Maybe he could be the first to name the species!)

Stan reached them and leaned on the kid's head like he was an armrest, smirking. “So, werewolf, huh? Whatcha doin', kid, checking to see if he got your best side?” 

“Oh get off,” Charlie growled, pushing Stan away. “You're the one who wanted to keep me until you could get cash for it.” 

“Yep, and I'm proud of that!” 

“I wasn't just a stray dog!” 

“Well you could've changed back to prove it.” 

“I would've been buck naked!” 

Ford was so busy listening to the two of them that he nearly missed it when Cathy spoke.

“He's never been this excited about how he looked before.” 

Ford glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then spoke in an undertone, so Stan and Charlie wouldn't hear her. “Look, the whole reason our family moved up here was because Charlie was getting bullied pretty badly. He got the bite a couple of years ago, grew all this hair... Our parents explained it to everyone else as early puberty. Which might've just made the problem worse. He doesn't even like getting his picture taken, I can't believe he sat still so you could _draw_ him...” 

Charlie chose that moment to turn to his sister, smiling. “Cathy, you want to see? This one's a picture of my nose!” 

“It _is_ simultaneously gross and cool,” Stan admitted. “You can almost see the boogers!” 

Cathy and Ford shared an exasperated look. 

“Maybe another time,” Cathy said, taking her brother's hand again. “If you stayed transformed all night, you must be exhausted. And I can guarantee you are beyond grounded.”

“Aww...” 

“Don't you 'aw' me.”

“I'd really like to do some more drawings,” Ford said. _And ask questions – LOTS of questions!_ “You could even keep some of the sketches if you wanted.” 

Charlie looked at Cathy pleadingly. 

Stan whistled. “Man, those are some _killer_ puppy-dog eyes. Color me impressed.”

Cathy caved. “Fine, fine, geez,” she grumbled. “But not today. Nap, then grounding. But here...” She took out a slip of paper, scribbled something, and passed it to Ford. “Call me and we'll work something out, okay? But _no_ labs.” 

“The dog kind or the science kind?” Stan asked, grinning cheekily. 

She gave Stan another glare, then took her brother's hand and led him down the trail. Charlie gave Ford a smile and a wave before they disappeared around a bend. 

Stan nudged Ford. “Dang, Ford, you actually got a girl's phone number! You got moves you didn't even know you had!” 

“I didn't – it's not like that!” 

“Sure, slick. C'mon, my wayward wingman, let's go work on the Stan O' War so you can build up some muscles for your big date!” 

“It's not a date, it's _science_ ,” Ford said firmly, but his face was turning red. 

Stan just laughed and dragged them both back to the boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog was a Real Boy all along! TADA!
> 
> Also I took Cathy's character from Ford's journal! I HAVE A CANON AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!
> 
> Sorry for the late update, by the way - some real-life challenges have arisen and they're not going away any time soon. I still want to do regular updates, so for now there will still be updates every Friday - but I'll save the shorts for the following Friday. So in two days, there WILL be an update with the next episode! The short will follow next week. Not ideal, but it's the best I can do. Hope you like the series so far! Leave comments!


	11. Little Gift Shop of Horrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOOOOORTS! _So. Many. Shorts._ All of them are brand-new, though, not based on canon shorts. I hope you like it!

“Welcome, traveler. I see your car broke down on this lonely road...a place so remote, that _NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM!_ ” 

Stan looked at her blearily over his breakfast of ice cream and cereal. “If you actually broke my car just to make that pun, there will be slugs in your slippers tonight.” 

She laughed and joined him at the table. It was way early on a Sunday morning. Ford was still passed out upstairs, but Stan's stomach had woken him with a demand for food. And now he was stuck with a crazy old lady who was brandishing a book in his face. 

“BEHOLD!” she declared. “You will now be subjected to my tales! Tales designed to MAKE YOU FEEL WARM AND FUZZY! MUHAHAHA!” 

“How the heck did you make that sound sinister?” 

She shoved the book in front of him and he blinked his eyes to get a better look. It was bright pink, covered in puff stickers and curly glitter glue designs, with the words _MEMORY ALBUM_ scribbled across the front. 

Suddenly he became a lot more interested. “Duuude, does this show your whole life's story? Are there dino pictures in there?!” 

“Mock all you want, but you know you'd _love_ to hear what it was like before the internet!” 

“Um, no.”

“WHAT I CAN'T HEAR YOU MY HEARING AID BROKE,” she said loudly, and opened to the first page. “Look! Here's a picture of me in front of the Mystery Shack last year! And here's a picture of Manly Dan's carving of a miniature viking ship!” 

“Why is it glowing?” 

She shrugged. “Beats me. He used a stick he found in the woods to carve with and I took the picture and then we had to burn it because it started oozing blood. Oh! And here's a picture of us at Pioneer Day!” 

He rolled his eyes. “I'm starting to wonder if I'm the only one in the family that isn't obsessed with books.” He scraped his bowl clean, licked the spoon, and hopped down from the table. “Welp, I'm off to prank a man with using just a ballpoint pen and some wood shavings.” 

“Whoa whoa whoa!” She caught his arm. “C'mon, give this thing a chance! OH!” Her face shone with excitement. “I got it! Stanley, why don't you make your _own_ album!?” 

He pointed up at the attic, towards Ford. “Nerd.” He pointed at Mabel. “Glittery nerd.” He pointed to himself. “ _Cool dude._ ” 

“But it'll be so much fun!” She waved her arms. “You could use one of my spare photo albums and turn it into a memorabilia album! I'll give you full and exclusive access to _all _my messiest art supplies!”__

___Messiest?_ _ _

__“I am intrigued,” he said. “Would I have access to said supplies after making the memory-mobile? Also, what's a memory-mobile?”_ _

__“It's like a photo album, only instead of pictures, you keep stuff in it! You just paste it in and you're good to go!”_ _

__“What about the words?”_ _

__“You don't have to use any words if you don't want to!” She leaped to her feet. “Grab all the junk I know you keep hidden under your bed and meet me back at the den table in five minutes!” She dashed out of the room._ _

__Stan hesitated. He had a _really_ good prank planned. Buuut..._ _

__He ran upstairs and snuck into his bedroom and practically shoved his whole body under his mattress. He grabbed everything he could in one armful and then sort of wiggled himself back out. He dropped a bunch of stuff and winced, glancing at Ford to see if the nerd had woken up. But he was sound asleep, wearing Stan's devil helmet. (They'd decided it was a good way to keep the hat on while he was passed out.)_ _

__He crept from the room, trying not to drop anything else, and then sprinted at full speed down the stairs and nearly broke an ankle. He found Mabel in the living room, surrounded by huge bins filled with sparkly ribbon, glitter glue, sequins, buttons, markers, feathers, and other craft-type stuff._ _

__She looked up and her whole face shone with delight. “I _knew_ you'd come back! This is gonna be amazing!” _ _

__Stan was grinning in spite of himself. He dumped all his stuff in her lap. “Alright, Mabel, how do we get started?”_ _

__“However you want! This is _your_ book.” She pulled something out of her jacket with a flourish. It was the same size as her memory album, but it was brown and plain. _ _

__Stan grabbed a black marker, scribbled Stanley on the front of it, and flipped it open. “Now what?”_ _

__“Now you start taping in whatever you want! But it's probably best to start with ones that have a story.” She held up an item from his pile. “Like this green raisin! Did you get it from a mutated potato plant or something?”_ _

__“No, that's just some chewed gum from last night.”_ _

__Her face turned a matching shade of green and he laughed._ _

__“Okay, okay,” he said. “How about... _this_ thing?” He held it up. It was a piece from the wrapper of a bag of cement. _ _

__“That's very...” She paused. “I think I'm missing something here. Did you try to hide a diamond or something?”_ _

__“No, this is...uh, you know what, maybe we could pick a different thing.”_ _

__“Nooo no no, that pause had a whole novel in it!” She started pounding the carpet. “Sto-ry time! Sto-ry time!”_ _

__“Okay, okay, geez!” He glued the thing in, wrote something underneath it and then held it up. “This one's called... _THE TIME I ALMOST RUINED AND THEN SAVED LEATHER VEST'S ROMANCIVERSARY!_ ” _ _

__“That's not a good title.”_ _

__“You wanna hear the story or not?”_ _

__

__Stanley crouched in the bushes outside Sal's house, waiting. As soon as he heard footsteps, he launched himself straight up._ _

__“OOGA BOOGA BOOGA!”_ _

__Leather Vest didn't even flinch. “That stopped being funny the first time you did it.”_ _

__“Not to me!” He laughed and followed LV inside. “Man, I am feeling so _pumped_ tonight! I've been working on my poker face, you're not gonna believe –” He stopped short and his jaw dropped. _ _

__Sal had laid out the most incredible 99.99 Cent Store feast that Stan had ever seen. The poker table was laden with miniature burritos glazed with butter, chips with guacamole and fresh-chopped onions, deep-fried meatballs with ketchup baked right into the crust. There was even a platter of sliced fruits with little plastic toothpicks. Stan drooled._ _

__Lawnmower, already sitting on the couch, took one look at his face and laughed. “Nice poker face there, Stan.”_ _

__“Less talking, more eating!” Stan grabbed a plate, thought the better of it, and started cramming three ketchup meatballs straight into his mouth._ _

__“Oi!” Sal yanked him away. “Manners, dude.”_ _

__“Mmm, mm,” Stan said, his mouth full._ _

__“Charming.” Sal steered him to the couch to sit next to Lawnmower. “I'll get you a plate. Try not to inhale anything else in the meantime, huh?” He went back and joined LV at the table. “So whaddaya think? Anything she'd like?”_ _

__“The burritos might be a little messy, but I'll just bring extra napkins. You got the recipe?”_ _

__Stan nearly coughed up the food still in his mouth. Lawnmower had to thump him on the back._ _

__“You _made_ this!?” Stan asked. _ _

__Sal turned. “Problem?”_ _

__“Uh _yeah_ there's a problem! I've been living off of Mabel's casseroles for a week straight when I could've come here and eaten some real food!” _ _

__Sal shrugged. “Normally I eat takeout, but it's a special occasion.”_ _

__“It's for my anniversary,” Leather Vest explained, sitting down on the bucket while Sal took one of the table chairs. “Next week it'll be one year since me 'n' my girl got together.”_ _

__Stan made a face. “Math Marathon Girl?”_ _

__“It's 'Decathalon', and yes.”_ _

__Lawnmower kicked Stan lightly on the shin. “Be civil, or no food.”_ _

__“Civil is good, I can do civil,” Stan assured him quickly. But just in case he started shoveling food even faster into his mouth._ _

__“You gonna take her anywhere special?” Sal asked. “There's always Lookout Point, but you don't seem the type to go parking.”_ _

__“We're not. I was thinking maybe a picnic or something by the lake. And I could bring board games or something she likes. She's not one for hiking, so I'd have to pick a spot pretty close to the shore. Somewhere she can get to easily, you know? And I kind of want to get her a gift, something special...”_ _

__The ketchup meatball was turning into a chewy wad in Stan's mouth. He rammed another buttered burrito into his mouth to force it down, but it felt like he'd just stuck a slimy eel between his teeth. (And he would know what that felt like. Mabel's cooking came pretty close.) Meanwhile Leather Vest just went on and on about his _girlfriend_ and how _ special_ she was and being all romantic and stupid. 

Exactly the way Stan had felt about Carla. 

Stan swallowed the wad. “Look, are we playing poker or not?” he snapped. 

Lawnmower looked at him. “What bug crawled up your but?” 

“Nothing, okay?” Stan shoved a bunch of food aside to clear a spot on the table. He pulled out his lucky deck of cards. “I'm dealin'. I got two limited-edition baseball cards and a coupla paper clips so you guys better put up something just as good.” 

“Do I wanna know where you got the cards?” Sal asked drily. 

Stan just clenched his jaw and dealt. 

The poker game got pretty intense. Stan played better than ever, and he won several cans of spray paint, a few match books, and a really old cloak Sal said he'd bought at a yard sale. Nobody mentioned another word about Leather Vest's girlfriend. 

The next day, Ford was still hung up on his code thing, so Stan went wandering through town with the stupid cloak hung over his shoulders. He thought he'd head on over to Soos' house and pretend he was some kind of midget magician from the future or something, maybe get Soos to hand over all his chips. 

And then he saw Leather Vest entering the new store Market Planet. 

_Bet he's gonna do something super-sappy for his_ girlfriend, Stan thought. And, having nothing better to do, Stan followed him. 

Sure enough, he found Leather Vest standing in front of the cards session, picking up one sappy romance card after another. They all had stupid hearts and cupids and puppies on them. One of them even had a picture of Bud Gleeful on it, marked 50% off. Stan sniggered. 

But watching LV looking at all those cards made something itch in Stan's brain. Then he got it. This whole set-up had “prank” written all over it. But what practically perfect prank could Stan pull off here? 

He looked around. Market Planet was kind of an indoor swap meet, with everything from oranges and cookie mix to furniture to some disturbed-looking Flurbies piled in a corner. But what really caught his eye were the Do-It-Yourself painting kits on the shelf just behind the cards. 

He grinned. _Excellent._

Stan slipped around and climbed up the paint kit shelf. It was actually taller than the card shelf, and he was in full view of Leather Vest, but the guy was so engrossed in his mushy cards he didn't even notice a boy crawling around like a spider. 

And then he happened to glance down at himself and gasped. His body was _gone!_

He nearly shrieked and fell off the shelf, but he caught himself just in time. The cloak swished back and Stan caught a glimpse of his knee before the cloak covered it back up. 

_Ooooh, it's an invisible cloak! Dude! THIS IS THE ULTIMATE PRANKING TOOL._

He grinned even more widely and went back to work. The paint kits were these books with little tubs of paint lined up along the bottom of the cover. Very carefully, Stan loosened the tiny plastic caps on each tub of paint. Not enough to make it spill, but enough so that even a slight nudge would pop the lid off and send the paint flying. Then, still careful so as not to disturb the newly loosened lids, he shimmied back down the shelf. 

The next part was easy. He grabbed as many bug-eyed Flurbies as he could carry and arranged them near the front door. Then he stood right next to the front door, fully invisible, and waited for the magic to happen. 

Barely a minute later, Make-Pizza-Not-War-Guy walked through the door. He took one look at the Flurby's glassy eyes and leaped back with a shout – right into the paint shelf. Instantly the lids popped off, and even better, the shelf started tipping over. A liquid rainbow gushed over the cards and thoroughly soaked Leather Vest's head in Princess Pink paint. 

Shouts went up. Stan booked it out of the store before any paint could splash on him and ruin his cover. He managed to run for half a block before he had to stop, he was laughing so hard. He leaned against a mailbox to keep from falling over. 

“The look on his face!” he gasped. “That was _priceless!_ ” 

He caught his breath just in time to see Leather Vest come out of the store. He had an empty gift bag in one hand and he was wiping his face off with a newly-bought towel. He dumped the towel in a public trash can and then headed towards another store along the street. 

Stan eyed the bag. 

So the guy was still bent on spending money for his girlfriend, huh? Well that had to beat watching lame shows on Gravity Falls TV. In fact, Stan was pretty sure he could make it even _more_ entertaining...

For the next two hours, Stan followed Leather Vest from store to store, still wearing the Cloak of Ultimate Pranking. When LV went to a perfume-and-makeup kind of store, Stan dipped his dirty socks in all the perfume bottles so they all smelled like skunk-flavored ice cream. When LV went to a chocolate store to pick out some candy, Stan cranked the heater at the back of the store so all the candy started to melt and look all weird and goopy. And then when LV when to Pottery Farm, Stan grabbed a bar of soap and slicked up the floor so people started sliding around and crashing into dishes. (Most of the dishes were copper or plastic, so it didn't make a big mess, but it sure made a heck of a lot of noise.) Leather Vest gave up and left the store, empty gift bag still tucked under one arm. 

He gave Leather Vest time to get around the corner, covering his mouth to keep from giggling. He could tell the guy was getting suspicious, but there was no way he had any idea who was behind all the pranks. Heck, Stan doubted he'd even been caught by the security cameras, he was that good! 

He patted himself on the back, stuck both hands in his pockets, and swaggered around the corner. 

And came face-to-chest with Leather Vest. 

Leather Vest was glaring right at him. “Got you now,” he growled. 

Stan looked down. The cloak had picked this particular moment to stop working, which meant he was standing there in plain sight with a hokey blanket wrapped around his neck. 

He gulped and tried for a winning smile. “Fancy running into you here!” 

LV did not look pleased. “You total _jerkwad_ ,” he snapped. 

It occurred to Stan just how big Leather Vest actually was. 

“H-hey, uh, what's with the name calling? Are we calling cats now, too? Because I can go get some from this girl Suzy –” He turned and started to run but Leather Vest grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him around. 

“I _knew_ it was you following me all day! What the heck is your problem?!” 

“You can't prove nothin'! And anyway I've got better things to do than follow you around!” 

“Name one.” 

“Uh –”

Leather Vest let him go. “Look, Stan, pranking people for fun is one thing, but you've been practically stalking me all day! I thought we were friends, so you wanna tell me what I did to put a target on my back?!” 

“Nothing!” 

He narrowed his eyes. “This is about my girlfriend, isn't it?” 

Stan turned red. “No it's not! What girlfriend? I didn't even know you were dating! Are you dating!?” 

“I knew it.” LV stepped away, his huge hands balled into fists. “What, you can't handle that I care about a girl? Is this 'cuz _you've_ been luckless in the love department? What're you gonna do when Ford gets a girlfriend, huh? Try and drive a wedge between them so he'll only ever feel happy around _you!?_ ” 

Stan sputtered. _He – girlfriend – I'm not –_

“Any girl would be lucky to have Ford!” he finally shouted. “What do I care if you have a girlfriend and I don't, huh?! Go ahead and make out with her twenty-four seven and share stupid love notes and SEE IF I CARE!” 

He turned and raced away at full speed, heading straight back for the Shack, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. 

He hung out with Ford in the lab for the next few days, just hanging out, sleeping, eating semi-edible yam chips, courtesy of Mabel. And really good snickerdoodle cookies, courtesy of Ria. Ford was still obsessed with that crystal nerd code of his. Stan let him be, lying in his Stanleymobile, staring up at the ceiling. Trying to ignore how much his stomach hurt. 

 

Eventually, though, Mabel noticed that she hadn't given them chores for a while and immediately told Stan to head into town for a bag of cement mix. (For her next recipe, probably.) He didn't mind much since he was starting to feel restless, but he argued with her to keep up appearances and then headed out. 

He ambled over to the hardware store. The place was busy, more or less, and he saw one of Manly Dan's uncles in the lumber aisle. He thought about pulling some kinda prank – maybe pretending to be that Hide-Behind thing they always talked about – but somehow he wasn't in the mood. He went to the back of the store and started poking the cement bags, wondering if he could sneak one under his shirt. 

“Don't even try it.” 

He looked up. Sal was looking down at him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Missed you at Poker Night, kid.” 

He blinked. “Was that yesterday?” 

“Somethin' on your mind?” 

Stan shrugged and looked back at the bags. 

“You know, that girlfriend matters a lot to Leather Vest.” 

Stan's head snapped up. He glared hotly, mouth open to retort – but Sal was already walking away, waving good-bye over his shoulder. Stan scowled. He'd just pulled a few mostly-harmless pranks! He pulled pranks all the time, everybody knew that! Pranks that had nothing at all to do with girlfriends! 

Stan was so distracted he paid, actually _paid_ for that cement back like a decent law-abiding person. He stepped out of the store with the scowl still on his face. 

So what if he pranked Leather Vest? Stan pranked everyone all the time, it was his _thing!_ And it didn't have anything to do with a girlfriend and if Stan just so _happened_ to prank everything related to his girlfriend then so what? Romance was dumb anyway! It was stupid and hurt like somebody opened your chest and stomped on you and if Leather Vest wanted to be stupid he could go ahead and get his girlfriend a stupid gift! He had plenty of time! 

And then Stan remembered that it had been a few days and the anniversary thing was tomorrow. 

He stopped short. _Oh, crud, what if Leather Vest doesn't have time to find a gift and his girlfriend really does break up with him?!_

“GAAAH!” he shouted, and ran down the street, the bag of cement slung over one shoulder. 

He ran straight to Skull Fracture and the bouncer waved him in. The inside was dim, dirty, and filled with bikers, but it was plenty easy to pick out Leather Vest, hunched over the counter to the right. Stan stomped up to him and heaved the bag of cement on an empty seat. 

The loud noise made LV turn. His face darkened. “What do you –” 

“My boat,” he said shortly. “You can borrow it.” 

“What?” 

“You could do the anniversary thing on my boat. The Stan O' War.” 

Leather Vest stared at him. “Seriously?”

“As a bad case of acne.” Stan straightened with pride. “I mean, she _is _the finest vessel in all of Oregon. Maybe the whole West Coast! Which makes it like, the most romantic boat since the Titanic. Plus she's just sitting on the beach so there's no chance of drowning, and you said you wanted somewhere easy to get to –”__

__“Alright, alright.” Leather Vest cracked a grin. “I surrender. Apology accepted, okay?”_ _

__“You are so dumb, that was _not _an apology.”___ _

____“Sure, sure.”_ _ _ _

____Just then Stan noticed his shoulders were hurting. He rubbed them and winced._ _ _ _

____Leather Vest glanced at the cement. “Did you actually carry that whole bag here?”_ _ _ _

____“I –”_ _ _ _

____“Thanks for waiting, sweetie.”_ _ _ _

____They both turned. An amazingly beautiful brunette was coming out of the lady's room. (Stan didn't even know the place _had_ bathrooms.) She had striking eyes, an impish smile, and curves in all the right places. She came right up to Leather Vest and draped an arm around his shoulders. Stan's jaw dropped. _ _ _ _

____“ _That's_ your girlfriend!?” _ _ _ _

____The girl laughed. “Who's this, Ethan?”_ _ _ _

_____Ethan?! He has an actual NAME?!_ _ _ _ _

____“Stan, this is Sabrina. Sabrina, this is just some knucklehead kid who thinks he can play poker.”_ _ _ _

____“I got three bottles of your spray paint that says I can,” Stan retorted._ _ _ _

____She laughed again._ _ _ _

____“Hey, babe.” Leather Vest took Sabrina's hand. “Stan here offered to let us use his boat for our date. How does a lakeside dinner at sunset sound to you?”_ _ _ _

____“That depends...” She smiled and bumped him playfully. “...on what we're having for dessert.”_ _ _ _

____Stan gagged._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Aw, _Stanley!_ ” Mabel squealed. She scooped him up in a bear hug and swung him back and forth over the carpet. “I always knew that you had a heart of gold behind your crusty chewed-gum exterior! You are so _cute!_ ” _ _ _ _

____He rolled his eyes and pulled away. “I would be offended, but you think everything is cute.”_ _ _ _

____“Everything _is_ cute I'm so glad you noticed! Now put that thing in the album! And for the record _I_ think you are definite boyfriend material.” _ _ _ _

____Stan grinned. “Well, with this handsome mug, how can I not be?”_ _ _ _

____“Exactly!” She grinned back. “Now tell another story! I am _literally dying with excitement._ ” _ _ _ _

____“Do I get the Shack when that happens?”_ _ _ _

____She keeled over, stuck her tongue out, and played dead. “Shack...goes...to...charity...”_ _ _ _

____“The horror, the horror!” Stanley shouted, and they laughed. “Okay okay, how's about – oh! You wanna know how you got those rocks?”_ _ _ _

____“The one that looks like a face?”_ _ _ _

____“The ones that look like faces, _plural._ ” _ _ _ _

____She sat up and looked at him. “Didn't you paint them?”_ _ _ _

____“Nope! I got them from... _THE SCREAMING ROCK!_ ” _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Stan swatted another branch out of his way. “Why are we doing this again?”_ _ _ _

____“Because,” Ford said, bent close to the ground as he walked. “I've gotta figure out that Crystal Code somehow, and there might be other crystals in the forest that could help.”_ _ _ _

____“No I mean why are we doing _this_. We could've just taken my car and covered like half the forest by now.” _ _ _ _

____“They were shrinking crystals, Stanley,” Ford said patiently. “We had to go slowly to make sure we don't miss –”_ _ _ _

____They stopped short. A sound cut through the forest. It sounded far away, and it was pretty muffled through the trees._ _ _ _

____But it was definitely the sound of screaming._ _ _ _

____They took one Look at each other and ran through towards the sound, cutting through branches and climbing over logs. Ford had to keep one hand clamped to his foil-lind hat to make sure it stayed on. The sound was getting louder._ _ _ _

____“ _AAAAAAAAAAAH!_ ” _ _ _ _

____And then it stopped._ _ _ _

____They paused, panting. It sounded so close. But Stan was getting pretty edgy about calling out to see if someone needed help. He caught Ford's eye and gave him a Look._ _ _ _

_____Should we yell or not?_ _ _ _ _

_____Sneak up._ Ford gestured with his hands. _You there. Me here._ _ _ _ _

____Stan nodded. They split up so they were a few yards away and walked forward as silently as possible, holding their breath._ _ _ _

____“ _AAAAAAAAAAAH!_ ” _ _ _ _

____It was right in front of them!_ _ _ _

____They shot through the trees and ran right into a big clearing full of rocks. One side of the clearing opened up to show a view of the lake down below, and there was a really massive rock in the middle of the clearing._ _ _ _

____Standing on top of the rock was Janice, hands cupped to her face, screaming her lungs out._ _ _ _

____“ _AAAAAAAAA –_ ”_ _ _ _

____“Cut it out already!” Stan shouted, clapping his hands to his ears._ _ _ _

____She startled so badly she nearly fell off the rock and turned around. Her face was all red and her black mascara was smeared, like she'd been scrubbing at her eyes. Some of her rust-red hair stuck up at crazy angles. Stan took a step back in case she went nuts._ _ _ _

____She glared at them. “What do _you_ want?” _ _ _ _

____“We heard screaming,” Ford said, still looking somewhat shocked. “What, uh, what're you doing?”_ _ _ _

____“Having a tea party. What's it look like I'm doing?!”_ _ _ _

____Stan grabbed Ford's sleeve. “Okay yeah, we're outta here.” He turned and immediately fell over a rock._ _ _ _

____“Hey!” Ford caught him halfway and slowed his fall, but Stan still ended up with his butt in the dirt and a bunch of rocks scattered around._ _ _ _

____Janice cackled._ _ _ _

____Stan glared up at her. “Oh what, you think it's funny when –”_ _ _ _

____“What is that?”_ _ _ _

____Stan blinked and looked over at his brother. He was all hunched over, staring at the ground._ _ _ _

____“You find a beetle or something?” Stan asked with interest._ _ _ _

____“No – but look at this rock!”_ _ _ _

____Ford held it up. He was showing the part of the rock that had been buried in the dirt. It was a bit gritty with mud and leave bits, but there was a face painted on it in ugly yellow and red paint. The face was screaming._ _ _ _

____“Oh, nice,” Stan said sarcastically. He glanced back up at Janice. “Did you do this?”_ _ _ _

____She crouched. “Do what?”_ _ _ _

____Ford held it up._ _ _ _

____She slowly shook her head. “Nooo...that wasn't me.” She slid off the rock and walked over to them, taking the rock from Ford's hand. She frowned at it. “Yellow and red...”_ _ _ _

____Stan looked down. “Hey – there's more!”_ _ _ _

____All the rocks he'd kicked up when he fell had faces on the bottom, painted in really loud colors. And _all_ of them were screaming. _ _ _ _

____“Well this isn't creepy at all,” Stan said. “What is this, the remains of a horrified kindergarten class?”_ _ _ _

____Ford took a step back and pulled out his journal. “Hang on, uh, I better do some sketches. Nobody touch anything.”_ _ _ _

____“I'm touching something!” Stan announced._ _ _ _

____“The ground is fine. Hold still a sec.”_ _ _ _

____“Aw.”_ _ _ _

____Janice was still turning over the rock in her hand. Her face was stony (pun intended) as she reached down for another rock._ _ _ _

____Ford squawked. “I _said_ don't touch anything!” _ _ _ _

____“This one,” she said, holding it up. It was screaming but it almost looked like it was crying, too. “Purple, black, and green...”_ _ _ _

____“Tell me that's not some kinda code,” Stan muttered, with a sidelong glance at Ford. But his nerdy bro was too focused on his sketch to notice._ _ _ _

____Janice ignored him. She started turning over rocks in spite of Ford's protest, getting closer and closer to the big one. And then she picked up a rock and let out a gasp._ _ _ _

____Stan and Ford jumped. “What, what?”_ _ _ _

____She held it up. The mouth was open and screaming, like the other ones. But the face was red, and the eyes were white, but with black smears around them, like mascara. An ugly rust-orange color made jagged eyebrows at the top._ _ _ _

____Ford stared at it. “Is that...you?”_ _ _ _

____“I think... _all_ of them are me,” she said tonelessly, staring down at the rocks around her. _ _ _ _

____Stan followed her gaze. There had to be over two hundred rocks all around the big one. “Geez, Janice, exactly how much screaming do you do?”_ _ _ _

____“Wait, wait, we gotta be sure!” Ford said excitedly. “Let's do an experiment, come on!”_ _ _ _

____They cleared away all the rocks from around the big one. Then they found a few unmarked rocks in the forest and placed them at “regularly marked intervals approaching the source of the anomaly” (so, like, right next to it, and then further away). And then he told Janice to climb back up and scream some more._ _ _ _

____She looked at them. “You want to watch me scream?”_ _ _ _

____“Oooh, you're right, you're right. Maybe it only works when no one's watching! Okay, quick, Stan, turn your back.”_ _ _ _

____“You realize you are now weirder than the rocks, right?” Stan said, but he let Ford turn him away from the rock. (He also plugged his ears, because Janice had the lungs of a mad rhino.)_ _ _ _

____He heard her scream even through his fingers, and when she was done he unplugged them and turned around, inspecting the earwax on his fingertips. Pretty good quantity, too. Bet there was some quality pranking he could –_ _ _ _

____“Oh my gosh, Stan, _look!_ ” _ _ _ _

____Stan looked. The three rocks they'd put down were untouched, but new rocks had popped up around them. He bent down and picked one up. It looked exactly like Janice._ _ _ _

____“Well?” Janice called. Her voice was a little hoarse._ _ _ _

____Stan held it up. “I'm gonna say, either there's a really small, really fast, really bad artist who has a _really_ creepy crush on you –”_ _ _ _

____“Or this rock is somehow interpreting your visual and acoustic presentations and representing them by spontaneous inorganic budding!” Ford cut in._ _ _ _

____Stan pointed at him. “That.”_ _ _ _

____Janice slid off the rock with a growl, shoving her fingers through her hair. “This is all _wrong!_ ” _ _ _ _

____Stan blinked. “How's that?”_ _ _ _

____“ _Look_ at them!” She pointed angrily at the rocks. “The whole _point_ of having a Screaming Rock is to get _rid_ of my anger, not make more of it!” _ _ _ _

____She looked like she was seriously about to flip out. Stan held up his hands and backed away._ _ _ _

____She snarled and threw up her hands. “This is _exactly_ what I mean! I _hate_ being so angry all the time and I have to let it out if I'm gonna act any kind of normal and now I'm here and I thought it was helping but I just make everything _worse!_ ” She stomped around to the other side of the rock. A second later they heard funny breathing noises, like she was either choking or crying. _ _ _ _

____Ford looked somewhat stunned. “Is, uh, is that the rock doing that to her?”_ _ _ _

____Stan rolled his eyes. “No, genius, it's Janice being a human girl.” He grabbed Ford. “Let's get outta here.”_ _ _ _

____“Wait – shouldn't we do something?”_ _ _ _

____“She'll be fine!”_ _ _ _

____The sobbing got louder._ _ _ _

____“We really should do something,” Ford said. He pushed Stan forward._ _ _ _

____“Hey!”_ _ _ _

____“You talk to her, Stan, you're good with people.”_ _ _ _

____“Good with – how is pranking people mercilessly and scamming them out of any spare change they've got being 'good with people'?!”_ _ _ _

____“Well they don't throw footballs or rocks at your head, for one,” Ford said. “Just go on.”_ _ _ _

____Stan groaned. “Fine. But you owe me your dessert tonight.”_ _ _ _

____Stan left Ford scribbling away and walked around the rock. He found Janice crouched against it, head in her knees. And, yup, she was crying. He picked up a stick and poked her with it._ _ _ _

____She glared at him. “I don't want to talk about it.”_ _ _ _

____“Good.” He turned to go._ _ _ _

____“It's just that I have these anger issues...”_ _ _ _

____“Here we go...”_ _ _ _

____She scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “I'm sorry I scared you, okay? I just feel angry all the time. I take it out on the Screaming Rock so I don't take them out on anyone else. But now it turns out that even _rocks_ can hear me screaming and I'm stuck and I don't know what to do.” _ _ _ _

____“Does it work though?”_ _ _ _

____“What?”_ _ _ _

____“Does screaming help?” Stan asked. “'Cuz you're about as nice as a poisoned porcupine most of the time anyway. I mean, you _could_ find a different rock, but you could also try something else.” _ _ _ _

____“Like _what_ ,” she said flatly. “And do _not_ say 'medication', because I –” _ _ _ _

____“Singing.”_ _ _ _

____The word kind of popped out before he realized he'd said it. And then Janice was staring at him and he looked down at himself in horror._ _ _ _

____“Oh no! I've been possessed by Grauntie Mabel!”_ _ _ _

____Janice actually laughed._ _ _ _

____A small pebbled popped out of the ground right at her feet. She picked it up and turned it over._ _ _ _

____It was another painted face. This one was still bright red, but it just had two tiny dots for eyes, and a really _really_ tiny smile. _ _ _ _

____“Huh,” Stan said._ _ _ _

____Janice stared at it for a minute, then put it down. “You said singing?”_ _ _ _

____“I will forever deny that I said that.”_ _ _ _

____She smirked. Then she climbed back up to the top of the rock. “Hey Ford!”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah?”_ _ _ _

____Stan ran around to the other side. Ford had gathered up the rocks and it looked like he was trying to measure and catalogue all of them._ _ _ _

____“I'm gonna try something,” Janice said. “But if you laugh I will come down there and rip all the hairs out of your eyebrows one by one.”_ _ _ _

____Ford immediately shoved his hat lower on his face. Stan had to bite his hand to keep from giggling._ _ _ _

____Janice stood up, faced away from them so she was looking out over the lake, and took a deep breath. Then she stopped and look down._ _ _ _

____“I don't know what to sing.”_ _ _ _

____“Do 'Disco Girl'!” Stan called up. “Ford loves that song?”_ _ _ _

____“He does?”_ _ _ _

____Ford turned red. “I am going to kill you later,” he muttered._ _ _ _

____But Janice had already started to sing and a rock popped up at Ford's feet. Instantly the nerd was all over it, checking it out, making little noises of dork excitement. Stan smirked._ _ _ _

____The longer Janice sang, the more rocks popped up. And the weird thing was, the happier she sounded, the bigger and less creepy the rocks looked. They started popping up with smiles and happy-squinty eyes like paranormal emojis._ _ _ _

____“I think it's working!” Stan said when she stopped, and he tossed her one of the smaller rocks. She caught it and smiled._ _ _ _

____“Hey! You guys try it!”_ _ _ _

____Ford looked up. “What, really?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, really! Get your butts up here!” And she jumped down and practically forced them up to the top of the rock._ _ _ _

____So they sang – badly – but for some reason it only made Janice rocks. (“Probably because blah blah blah dork word blah blah blah,” Ford said. Or at least that's what Stan heard.)_ _ _ _

____By now Janice was actually grinning. It was kind of freaky seeing it, actually, since she was always frowning the rest of the time. “Don't worry if you can't make the rocks,” she told them. “It's fine. It was still fun listening to you guys be bad at singing.”_ _ _ _

____“'Scuse _you_ ,” Stan said indignantly. “Only one of us is bad and it ain't me!” _ _ _ _

____“Can I take back the rest of the rocks so I can study them in my lab?” Ford said eagerly._ _ _ _

____She shrugged. “Knock yourselves out. Not literally,” she added, shooting a look at Stan._ _ _ _

____“Aw, c'mon.”_ _ _ _

____So Ford made them carry whole armloads of little screamy rocks back to the Shack, talking the whole time about how he was going to run tests to see what kinds of rocks they were and if there was anything unusual about the paint or the soil they could pull off the rocks. A stiff wind picked up and knocked them off-balance, and one of the rocks fell out of Stan's arms and into the Bottomless Pit._ _ _ _

____“Agh, Stanley, be _careful!_ ” Ford said. _ _ _ _

____“Dude, it's a rock. And it'll probably come back.”_ _ _ _

____“That only happens _some_ of the time! For all we know, we just lost that rock to the great unknown on the other side of the wormhole. Please be more careful.” _ _ _ _

____“Alright already, yeesh.”_ _ _ _

____And that's when Mabel saw them coming out of the woods. She took one look at what they were carrying, practically mauled them, and then carried all the rocks straight to the Gift Shop, where she immediately sold them to the next batch of tourists._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Oh oh ohhhh!” Mabel squealed. “I totally remember this part!”_ _ _ _

____Stan grinned. “Who could forget? Ford whined for like an hour after they were all gone, and when he went back into the forest, he said all the rocks were gone.”_ _ _ _

____“Did Janice take them?”_ _ _ _

____He shrugged. “Anyway, I still have that little laughy one, and I'm gonna stick it in the book.” He grabbed a piece of tape and taped it in._ _ _ _

____Mabel eyed it. “Kinda lumpy. We'll just have to stick something else lumpy on the page to even it out!”_ _ _ _

____“What're you guys doing?”_ _ _ _

____They turned. Ford had come down the stairs. He stood in the doorway of the living room, rubbing his right eye and yawning._ _ _ _

____“We're putting together a memorabilia album for Stan!” Mabel said brightly._ _ _ _

____“It's like a journal, but with stuff instead of words,” Stan explained._ _ _ _

____“Oh yeah?” He stepped over the piles of glitter and yarn and sat on the carpet next to Stan._ _ _ _

____Stan grinned at him. “You wanna do the next one? You can pick from my pile of priceless treasures!”_ _ _ _

____“If you mean junk, then sure.” Ford looked over the pile carefully, then pulled something out. “How about...this?”_ _ _ _

____Stanley saw what it was and his whole body felt warm. “That's definitely my favorite,” he said, grinning._ _ _ _

____Mabel leaned forward eagerly. “What, what? What is it?”_ _ _ _

____“It's that photo,” Ford said. “The one Stan and I did yesterday...”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Ford, Stan, and Mabel were walking back from the library, a new book tucked under Ford's arm. He kept glancing back over his shoulder._ _ _ _

____“I still can't figure out why she kept giving me funny looks,” he said. “And she says I lost that new book she ordered, but I never even checked it out!”_ _ _ _

____“Ha ha that's so weird,” Stan said loudly._ _ _ _

____Ford looked at him. “Did you do some –”_ _ _ _

____“OH LOOK THE BOWLING ALLEY!” He bolted down the block._ _ _ _

____Mabel and Ford ran after him. They caught up in front of the Bowling Alley – or, more accurately, what used to be the Bowling Alley. From what Ford could see, the face of the building was the only thing standing. Everything else behind it was a blackened ruin. The whole thing was surrounded by a chainlink fence, with a sign hung on it reading “Construction.”_ _ _ _

____“What happened?” Ford asked, catching his breath. “A gas leak or something?”_ _ _ _

____Mabel shrugged. “Beats me. It was just fine when Preston and Stan had their competition here.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh...” Ford remembered that night and his chest suddenly felt filled with lead. He'd basically ditched Stan because he was too absorbed in his research – and look how _that_ turned out. He'd never even asked if Stan won. _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“I'ma climb the fence!” Stan shouted, and immediately started scaling it._ _ _ _

____“Hold it, kiddo,” Mabel said, plucking him off._ _ _ _

____“Aw, c'mooon! I wanna go exploring!”_ _ _ _

____“I think they might be doing construction work,” Ford said, pointing to the sign._ _ _ _

____Stan rolled his eyes as Mabel put him down. “Yeah, right. I bet they only put that sign up there so no one steals the good stuff first. What, is a giant wrecking ball gonna come –”_ _ _ _

____There was a huge crash and a giant black ball swung straight through the middle of the Bowling Alley's front. Immediately the whole left side of the front collapsed in a heap of plaster and dust._ _ _ _

____“SMASH!” said a voice, and they turned to look at the driver of the wrecker. A huge woman built like a tank sat in the cab. She lifted a pair of goggles and grinned at her handiwork. “GRENDA HAS ENTERED THE PARTY!”_ _ _ _

____Mabel and Stan actually screamed._ _ _ _

____“ _GRENDAAAAAA!_ ”_ _ _ _

____The two of them immediately scaled the fence and shot across the asphalt, still screaming so loud they set off every dog in the neighborhood. Luckily the driver saw them – and immediately leaped from the wrecker. She scooped up Mabel and Stan and started juggling them, all three of them laughing like lunatics._ _ _ _

_____Ooookay,_ Ford thought. _My great-aunt and twin brother are hugging a very burly-looking stranger. Clearly, I am missing something._ He climbed the fence and headed over. _ _ _ _

____Grenda saw him and gasped. She caught Mabel and Stan in each of her hands and looked back and forth between Ford and his brother. “Omigosh there are _two_ of these!” _ _ _ _

____“These are my grephews!” Mabel said, wiggling all over with delight. “Put me down, put me down, I wanna do introductions!” Grenda let them go and Mabel stood between Grenda and the twins, holding her fist to her face like a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, in this corner we have the one, the only, the undeniable boxing beauty, GRENDA THE GREAT!”_ _ _ _

____“I LIKE TO SHOUT THINGS!” Grenda announced._ _ _ _

____Mabel gestured to Stan. “Aaaaand in this corner we have the lovable sticky-fingered scamp, STANLEY PINES!!”_ _ _ _

____“I can eat five hot dogs at once!”_ _ _ _

____Grenda nodded. “Impressive.”_ _ _ _

____“Aaaaaand finally, in _this_ corner we have the socially awkward and perpetually sweaty genius, STANFORD PINES!” _ _ _ _

____“I am not sweaty,” Ford said indignantly._ _ _ _

____Stan was practically vibrating with excitement. He grabbed Ford's arm. “Ford, Ford, this is so cool – Grenda's like, the _ultimate_ boxer. Mabel showed me some of her fights, this woman could take down a friggin' tank with her bare hands!” _ _ _ _

____“ALSO MY TEETH!” Grenda shouted._ _ _ _

____“So, uh, you two know each other?” Ford asked Mabel._ _ _ _

____She smiled. “Of course! Me 'n' my girl Grenda go way waaaay back! So what brings you to town?” she asked, turning to Grenda. “If I'd known you were coming I would've made my famous chili and corn dog brownies!”_ _ _ _

____“I'm taking the year off to expand my brand. I'm gonna turn this whole place into a boxing gym!”_ _ _ _

____Stan actually screamed with joy. “Can I join your gym?! I can be your mascot!”_ _ _ _

____“You should totally hire him, Grenda,” Mabel said confidently. “Free child labor is one of the great cornerstones of any successful business.”_ _ _ _

____“Plus me 'n' Ford can be like before and after shots!” Stan hooked an arm around Ford's neck and dragged him close. “Look! Before...After! See?! Instant awesome right here!”_ _ _ _

____“Stan, quit it,” Ford grumbled. But he was grinning pretty hard._ _ _ _

____“Hmmm...” Grenda looked them up and down, considering. “You do look ridiculously cute and rugged at the same time, just like me and Mabel. And 'free' is a pretty tough deal th beat...alright! You two can be The Great Grenda's Exclusive Mascots!”_ _ _ _

____“WOOHOOOO!” Stan shouted._ _ _ _

____“LOUDER, TINY MAN!” Grenda shouted back._ _ _ _

____“ _WOOHOOOOOOOO!_ ”_ _ _ _

____The photo shoot was all Stan could talk about for the next three days. That, and learning to box with Great Grenda._ _ _ _

____He insisted that they eat dinner in the living room and watch Great Grenda tapes while they ate. The two of them sat in front of Mabel's chair, eating out of three medium-sized pizza boxes (one for each of them). Ford could barely pay attention to the tapes because Stan kept up an almost nonstop stream of commentary, even with his mouth full._ _ _ _

____“– and there, you can totally see how she's been trained in mixed martial arts! See how she moved her elbow? That's like the hardest part of the body!”_ _ _ _

____“Except for your head,” Ford teased._ _ _ _

____“Rumor has it her fists are so big she has to wear _custom gloves_ just to get her knuckles in there!” _ _ _ _

____“Custom gloves, huh?” Ford looked down at his hands. He hadn't actually thought about whether they'd fit in the glove._ _ _ _

____“The rumors are true,” Mabel said proudly. “I made her first pair of professional gloves myself. Made them out of a faux leather formula I designed to dissolve in grape soda.”_ _ _ _

____Stan looked at her. “Why would you ruin perfectly good grape soda?”_ _ _ _

____“Stanley, 'good grape soda' is an oxymoron.”_ _ _ _

____“I think you mean 'Oxyclean'. Anyway, so see this part right here?” Stan waved a pizza slice at the TV screen, just as Grenda dealt a wicked left hook to her opponent. “POW! That move was so legendary it's practically on _every_ Great Grenda poster. And soon, brother nerd, we will be on all those posters, too! Every billboard, every T-shirt! WE WILL RULE THE WORLD!” _ _ _ _

____Ford paled._ _ _ _

____“Hey Ford, you okay?” Mabel asked him. Stan looked over._ _ _ _

____He cleared his throat. “Um...our photos? Of, um, which parts of us, exactly?”_ _ _ _

____Stan shrugged. “Our handsome mugs, obviously. Maybe our masculine – well, _my_ masculine upper body. They'll probably want us to box, so we'll wear the boxing gloves, too.” _ _ _ _

____“Oh. Right. Right! I mean that definitely makes sense!”_ _ _ _

____Stan grinned and resumed the commentary, spitting bits of pepperoni and cheese all over the carpet._ _ _ _

____Ford was secretly relieved. For a second there he'd had the horrible idea that his hands would have to be in view. But as long as they were in the gloves, nobody would know he was a freak. It wouldn't feel like he was on display to be...laughed at, or something._ _ _ _

____Except it kind of _did_ feel that way. He still didn't feel exactly comfortable talking in front of huge groups of people. And putting his photo in front of everybody – the idea of anyone making fun of it already made him want to tear it down. Getting famous for science was one thing. But boxing – especially with how skinny he still was, compared to Stan..._ _ _ _

____He shrugged it off. This was really important to Stan, and Ford didn't want to miss out on supporting his brother all over again. Besides, they'd be taking the photo together. So there wasn't anything to worry about._ _ _ _

____A couple of days later, Mabel took them back to the gym. Grenda had paid three construction teams at once to set up the gym. The entrance was still covered, but inside it was fully operational – there was a huge matted area that took up the bulk of the building, where people could practice wrestling or punching. Gym equipment was lined up along the left wall – weights, treadmills, other stuff that vaguely resembled torture devices – and there were punching bags lined up on the opposite wall. At the back were three actual boxing rings with the string around them and everything, complete with old-fashioned bells on the side._ _ _ _

____She'd hired a professional photographer to take shots, right there in the gym, and the guy had already set up his equipment. Mabel walked them in and Grenda gave Stan and Ford their boxing outfits._ _ _ _

____“Let me know if you need shorts in a different size!” she said. “Go to the men's locker rooms and get changed. Doesn't matter which one of you comes out first, since we're doing separate photos, but make it fast!”_ _ _ _

_____Wait – separate photos?_ _ _ _ _

____“Back in a flash!” Stan said, running off._ _ _ _

____But Ford hung back. “Um – I thought Stan and I were talking photos together?”_ _ _ _

____“Nope! 'Before' and 'After' don't go in the same picture. Now hurry up, I wanna have this photo shoot done in time for the pizza special at Harvey's!”_ _ _ _

____“Right.” _I actually thought they were kidding about that part._ _ _ _ _

____For a second he considered saying he didn't want to do the photos anymore. He knew Mabel wouldn't mind, and since Grenda was her friend, she'd make Grenda understand. But then he pictured Stan's face when he found out Ford left him to do it alone – again._ _ _ _

____Ford turned and headed for the lockers._ _ _ _

____Stan had already gotten changed and was practicing his moves, lightly punching locker after locker, weaving and dodging around a wooden beam like he was facing an opponent in the ring._ _ _ _

____“Ford! C'mon and let's go, this is gonna rock so hard!”_ _ _ _

____“Okay.” Ford started undressing as his brother talked._ _ _ _

____“Man, this is gonna be _awesome_. Remember when Preston bought his way to the front page? Well now I'm gonna own a whole billboard! Let's see the look on _his_ face when _my_ face is...hey, are you okay?” _ _ _ _

____Ford looked up. “What?”_ _ _ _

____“You were staring at your hands just now.”_ _ _ _

____“No I wasn't.”_ _ _ _

____Stan paused. “You know your hands are gonna be covered up, right? Is that what this is?”_ _ _ _

____“No, no. I mean I was at first, but this is – this is fine. How do I put the gloves on again?”_ _ _ _

____Stan showed him, fitting them over Ford's hands. The ones Grenda had given them were customized to their hand size, with a little growing room so they'd last longer. Ford's were a little wider, but he still had trouble getting his thumb in. Finally Stan stepped back._ _ _ _

____Ford tried to wiggle his fingers. “Huh. Not bad. Okay! Let's just – go out in front of everybody and do the pictures!”_ _ _ _

____He turned for the door, but Stan stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Ford, you know you don't have to do this, right?”_ _ _ _

____“What're you talking about?” Ford tried to smile. “This is gonna be great! We're gonna – do billboards! With pictures! _Shirtless_ pictures! D'you think I can grow a chest hair again in the next ten minutes? Because that would be really –”_ _ _ _

____“You are a _sucky_ liar.” _ _ _ _

____Ford hung his head. “I know.”_ _ _ _

____“Look, I can just go out there and pretend to be both of us if you want.”_ _ _ _

____Ford's head jerked up. “But that's not the point!”_ _ _ _

____“What point?”_ _ _ _

____“I...” Ford tried to find the words and came up blank. “I just...missed your Bowling game. For a _really_ stupid reason. So when I saw how excited you were about this, I just didn't want to miss it again.” _ _ _ _

____Stan looked at him for a moment. Then he hooked an arm through Ford's and dragged him out of the locker room._ _ _ _

____Mabel come inside and was talking with Grenda. They both looked up and gasped at the sight of them._ _ _ _

____“Oh my gosh you look so CUTE!” Mabel squealed._ _ _ _

____“You're like tiny boxing death machines!” Grenda said._ _ _ _

____Stan ignored them both. “HEY PHOTO GUY!” he shouted. “You gonna stand around all day or what??”_ _ _ _

____The guy looked up. “Nice, kid. Alright, let's have you over – what are you doing? You're supposed to do separate pictures.”_ _ _ _

____Stan stood firmly in front of the neon backdrop, one arm still hooked around Ford's neck._ _ _ _

____“'Separate pictures'?” he repeated. “You _do_ know we're twins, right? That's gonna be major money-making magic right there, so let's get crackin'!” _ _ _ _

____“Alright, alright, geez. I get paid by the photo anyway. You might wanna loosen up your hold, though.”_ _ _ _

____Ford was slowly turning purple. Stan let go with a laugh. “Geez, Ford, don't get all – _choked up!_ ” _ _ _ _

____Ford laughed back and punched Stan lightly in the gut. They were still laughing when the photographer took the picture._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Mabel wiped a tear from her eye. “That was _beautiful._ ” _ _ _ _

____“You were literally there with us,” Stan reminded her. “And it was yesterday.”_ _ _ _

____Stan taped the photo into the album and shut the book. It was lumpy and weird from all the stuff crammed on the pages. And it was almost perfect, but..._ _ _ _

____“It's missing something,” he said. “Hey Mabel, you got any paint?”_ _ _ _

____“ _Do_ I?!” _ _ _ _

____She hauled out container after container of paint, pulling them from all sorts of weird places – under her armchair, from behind the aquarium, even off the roof beams. Stan picked an orange tub and told Ford to pick a color, too._ _ _ _

____“What for?”_ _ _ _

____“This!”_ _ _ _

____Stan plunged his whole hand into it and then stamped the cover of his album with his handprint._ _ _ _

____“Cool!” Ford grabbed a tub of green paint and did the same. The book was small, so their handprints were crammed so close they were touching at the fingertips. Ford grinned. “Wow, Stan, it's like you've got your own Gravity Falls journal!”_ _ _ _

____“It totally is! Minus the creepy drawings. You wanna see what I did at the beginning?”_ _ _ _

____“Sure!”_ _ _ _

____“Me too!” Mabel added. “I am too emotionally invested in this journal to do anything else but reread it right now!”_ _ _ _

____“I can so relate to that,” Ford said._ _ _ _

____Stan opened the journal, propping the cover page up against a bin so the paint wouldn't get smudged. His brother leaned in to see it and Stanley smiled. “Okay, so this is the beard hair I got from Jeff,” he started, “and here's a scale from the Gobblewonker. Also some splinters I got from Dan's boat. And then on the next page...”_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even in a Relativity Falls AU, that boxing photo MUST exist. It's like a law of nature. 
> 
> I hope everyone liked the shorts. They turned out a lot more fluff-slash-emotional than I expected, which was different, but hopefully still good. Comments? Feedback? Please tell me what you liked so I know what to publish or let die in the void of my computer's memory!


	12. Little Gift Shop of Horrors Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning – mild reference to child abuse.

July 21

After some difficult research, I have obtained a set of Truth Teeth from a decidedly ornery talking head. The head was apparently buried over the Teeth as a guardian of sorts – rather ineffective, I thought, until the head began complaining nonstop about the future. It was VERY annoying. 

Nevertheless, I have brought the Truth Teeth back for study. They appear to have magical properties that allow them to shrink or expand to fit a mouth of any size, and can even be placed over actual teeth. I am fascinated to see what effect this will have on Stanley – if I can get him to wear them. 

 

July 21 (later)

Stanley found the teeth before I could execute my extremely well-thought-out plan involving toffee peanuts and a fake newspaper contest. He decided to use them on Grauntie Mabel and simply stuck them into her mouth while she slept! I was astounded that he managed to pull off such a bold maneuver, but Grauntie Mabel sleeps like the dead. (The regular dead, not the undead.) I admit I was a little disappointed that I missed the opportunity to study their effects on my brother, but I am increasingly curious about the effect they will have on Grauntie Mabel. She is, after all, a self-proclaimed “Ms. Mystery”. I wonder what secrets she will reveal, and what difference they will make in her behavior. 

 

July 22 

There is absolutely no difference. 

 

July 22 (later)

Correction: this is WORSE. The Teeth seem to be affecting Grauntie Mabel, insofar as she now says literally anything that comes to mind, no matter how off-topic or inappropriate. It is as if the Teeth consider anything unsaid as a lie of omission and therefore force her to say it. We now know exactly how Waddles' vomit looked after he attempted to digest a circus clown's hat, the myriad gastrointestinal “adventures” she experiences when eating avocado ice cream, and the precise length of the longest booger she'd ever pulled out of someone's nose. (It wasn't even her own nose! Who goes picking someone else's nose?!) Even Stan was compelled to admit the error of his ways after Mabel informed us of every last detail of our births. EVERY. LAST. DETAIL. 

Stan and I are waiting until she falls asleep for her next nap and will then remove the Teeth from her actual teeth. Baldwin did not serve as an effective deterrent. Will need to find a place to bury these where they will never see the light of day again. 

 

July 22 (even later)

Grauntie Mabel _knew about the teeth!_ She knew this whole time! She informed us that she'd known about it the second she woke up and realized her million-dollar smile now actually looked as if it were worth a million dollars. That, and a pesky toothache in on molar had mysteriously vanished. (Does the Teeth have healing properties?) Apparently knowledge of the Teeth was the one thing they did NOT compel her to mention, and she felt that it would be a good lesson in the importance of honesty.

Stanley and I agree: Honesty sucks. 

I have locked the Teeth in an old trunk and Stanley covered it with chains and six or seven padlocks for good measure. (I do not know where he got them. I do not want to know.) I have been experimenting with the Bottomless Pit, and selected a time during which no lost object ever returns to the top of the whole. May these Teeth disappear into the void forever. 

 

July 23

The Teeth incident apparently inspired Grauntie Mabel to pursue what she terms “Daring Dental Adventures”. Translation: A trip to the dentist's office. 

Yay.

Stan is experiencing far more trepidation than I. I suppose this is to be expected – Stanley regularly consumes massive amounts of junk food, including but not limited to packets of raw sugar, so it is probable that he has at least one cavity. I myself take proper care of my teeth, but I admit to a certain nervousness nonetheless. I've seen how dentists operate on television, certainly, but I have never actually visited a dentist's office myself. The rather lackadaisical nature of the general townsfolk fails to inspire much confidence in the expertise of our future dental doctor. 

Still, surely a trip to the dentist's office will be infinitely better than listening to one more story about Spencer the Elbow Scab.

 

“Well, well, Ms. Mystery!” the dentist said, smiling as he walked into the waiting room. “Come for another tour?” 

Tour?

Grauntie Mabel shook her head. “Not today, Mikey. I'm actually here for my grephews – they could use a good teeth-cleaning!” She pulled them forward. 

Ford eyed the dentist warily. The office looked normal enough – tan walls, worn carpet, those plastic chairs with the little foam cushions all crushed with butt imprints. Obviously a place that had seen a fair bit of business. The dentist himself looked normal as well: balding, with black hair, a collared blue shirt and kakhi slacks under a lab coat. The coat was vaguely reassuring. But there were two very spiky implements jutting out of the coat's pocket, which did not bode well. 

Stanley snapped his teeth together preemptively.  
The dentist raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“He'll behave,” Mabel said cheerfully. “I've threatened to repeat the story of his birth if he doesn't. _And_ I have the video, too!” 

Stan blanched. “You didn't mention _that!_ ” 

“Surprise! Now go be a good little grephew if you don't want to see your birth canal!” 

Stan and Ford shuddered. 

“I'll just go first,” Ford said quickly, stepping forward. Stan shot him a grateful look. Normally Stan did all the scary stuff so he could watch out for Ford (and brag about it, of course), but Ford had literally faced down a demon – surely the dentist's office couldn't be much worse. And of the two of them, he was more level-headed. He did not want to give Mabel any reason to show that tape. 

He followed the dentist – his name tag said Michael Donner – out of the lobby, down a short hallway and into a room with an actual dentist's chair. There were cabinets with a sink filling up the left wall, a huge window in the right wall, and several posters detailing the anatomy of the mouth on the far wall. The chair sat in the middle of the room, made of light green faux leather with a lamp hanging over it and a metal tray with various sharp-tipped implements set to one side. 

Ford paused at the doorway. 

“Alright, sit in the chair, please,” said Mr. Donners. 

He moved forward reluctantly. The chair was actually comfortable, but it made him nervous to lie back in it. Mr. Donners moved the lamp so it was directly over Ford's face and switched it on. He blinked in the glare. 

The dentist took two silver tools from the tray and loomed over him. “Open wide, please.” 

“What're those for?” 

“It's just a pair of mirrors, so I can see into the recesses of your mouth.” 

Ford complied. 

The dentist did quite a lot of unnecessary poking, in Ford's opinion. Then he pulled back and picked up a tool with a small, dainty, very sharp hook at the end of it. 

Ford's head pressed a little deeper into the pillow. “What's that for?” 

“Just for scraping plaque off.” 

“Pla – oh. But I brush my teeth.” 

“Plaque builds up over time, and it's a lot harder to get off than regular bacteria. It won't hurt, it'll just feel funny.” 

Ford held his breath and opened his mouth. Mr. Donners was right, it didn't hurt, except for a couple of times when the man accidentally poked Ford's gum. 

Then the scraping part was done and the dentist drew back. Ford heard a familiar sound to his left. 

“That's an electric toothbrush?” he asked. 

“That's right. Much more thorough and efficient than a regular tooth brush. Do you have one at home?” 

Ford shook his head. 

“Well, regular works just fine. But electric is better. I usually tell my patients to get one, but you know how it is – electrical appliances tend to act rather oddly in this town. Once I had someone come in and tell me their tooth brush had been possessed by a Brush Ghost which insisted on brushing all her cats. Can you imagine?” he chuckled. “Must be something in the water here.” 

_Well, there_ is _a toxic waste dump right up the river_ , Ford thought. 

The cleaning took a surprisingly short time, and in just a few minutes the dentist finished up and gave him a cup of water for him to rinse his mouth with. Ford went to the sink to spit. 

“Red, or blue?” 

Ford turned around. Donners was holding up two cheap tooth brushes wrapped in plastic. 

“Um – blue.” 

“Great. Now let's go get your brother, huh?” 

They went back to the lobby. Mabel had engaged Stan in a poker game and they were both of them cheating like crazy. 

“Oh, you're done already!” Mabel said, looking up with a grin. Two aces of spades stuck up from the back of her shirt. “Okay, Stan, it's your turn.” 

Stan scowled. “You just want me to leave so you can look at my cards.” 

“ _Moi?!_ I would never!” 

“Riiiight. Ford, you make sure she doesn't touch my hand. If I win this round we get out of chores for the next three weeks.” 

“You got it,” Ford said, nodding. 

“You wanna play me in his place?” Mabel asked. “We could do double or nothing!” 

“Pass.” 

“If you let me look I'll let you out of chores for a month whether Stan wins or loses.” 

Ford grinned. “Definitely pass. You'd probably just say, 'I meant _last_ month', and we'd both be stuck with chores.” 

She laughed. “Alright, alright.” 

Ford sat down and busied himself with the Crystal Code – he'd tucked it into his Journal so he could carry it around and work on it whenever he needed to. He still hadn't cracked it yet, but given the frequency of some of the letters, he was pretty sure it was written in English. So at least he had a decent starting point. 

Stan was in the back room a lot longer than Ford was. After half an hour passed, Ford had started glancing anxiously at the clock. His cleaning hadn't taken that long, so what...? 

He hadn't finished the thought when his brother came down the hall, looking vaguely grumpy and clutching a red tooth brush in his fist. 

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Soooo, how did it go?” 

Stan's scowl deepened. 

“Perhaps we could do that tour now,” the dentist suggested. 

Grauntie Mabel's face lit up. “An excellent idea!” 

_What tour are they talking about?_ Ford thought. Was she going to take the dentist back to the Shack or something? 

Instead, Donners turned and extended one arm so he was pointing down the hall. “Lady, gentleboy, gremlin...” 

“And don't you forget it,” Stan said proudly, as he and Ford headed down the hall after Mabel. 

“Uh, Grauntie Mabel...?” Ford said. What was the dentist going to do, take them on a tour of the building? The cleaning hadn't been that bad, but Ford had absolutely no interest in staying longer than necessary. 

Still, he and Ford followed Mabel to a room at the end of the hall. With a rather excessive flourish, the dentist opened it. 

It was a small museum full of teeth. Dinosaur teeth, shark teeth, whale teeth, bear teeth, Cro Magnon teeth, rodent skulls, even a few rocks that looked like faces complete with toothy smiles. Everything was laid out under small glass cases around the room, under diagrams of insect mandibles and anatomical charts. The center of the room was filled with six slim pedestals, four of them already filled with what looked like human dentures. 

“Whoooaa,” Stan said, looking around. “Dude has one _seriously_ creepy hobby. What the heck is _that_ thing, it's got teeth on it's teeth!” 

“That would be the skeleton of a Crabeater Seal,” the dentist said, leading them to the closest exhibit. It did indeed look like it had teeth on its teeth – the fish skeleton had a row of triangular teeth, one on top, one on the bottom, and each tooth had smaller triangular protrusions lining the edges. “That one I got from a friend of mine doing research in Antarctica. The Crabeater Seal actually eats krill, and it uses its teeth for filtering, not biting.” 

“Yeah but it looks _wicked!_ ” 

The dentist laughed. “Glad you like it. But it's not the strangest thing in here.”

“Show him the armadillo!” Mabel said eagerly. 

Donners grinned. “Right this way. The Giant Armadillo can have up to 100 teeth in it. The one I have has 82, but you can see on the end...” 

Ford listened with utter fascination. Some of them, he was convinced, were creatures not entirely of this world – the skull that Donners described as a _Homo Floresiensis_ specimen was clearly that of a Leprecorn. 

The teeth in the middle of the room were most fascinating – a couple were just regular human dentures that belonged to celebrities, but one of them was an actual replica of George Washington's dentures, and the other had sharpened canines that Ford was certain belonged to a vampire. 

“Now,” Donners said, when the tour was over. “Boys, if you don't mind, I need to have a word with your Grauntie...” 

Stan didn't look up. He was thoroughly engrossed in examining the fangs of a saber-toothed deer. 

Ford took out his Journal and went back to the Leprecorn teeth. He wanted to get a sketch of them so he could head out into the woods tomorrow and do a comparative study – if he could prove that those really were Leprecorn teeth, perhaps he could find a way to persuade Donners to let him borrow them so Ford could publish his findings and finally be recognized for proving paranormal creatures existed. 

He was halfway through the sketch when something caught his ear. 

“– laceration of the tongue,” Donners was saying. “Small, but definitely scarred. Now that I think of it, I saw a billboard of the two of them on my drive in from work this morning. I take it Stanley has been boxing for a while now?” 

He glanced up out of the corner of his eye. Grauntie Mabel was nodding. “Yes, but I'm not sure that he always wears a mouth guard.” 

“See that he does. A blow to the side of the face can leave far more damage than just a bitten tongue, although that itself is bad enough. If he's been boxing that hard, he's lucky he didn't injure himself further.” 

Ford felt something cold trickle over his scalp and down his back. _A blow to the side of the face._

He put his journal away and went over to Stanley, who was now trying to work the case open. 

“Stan.” 

“Sh! No wait, stand right there and block their view.” 

“Seriously, Stan –”

“Alright!” Donners clapped his hands. “I do have another appointment in ten minutes, so we'll need to cut the tour short. Also, there is the slight matter of my payment.” 

Mabel grinned. “Don't worry, doc, I've got it covered!” She reached into her jacket and whipped out – 

Ford's jaw dropped. 

“THE TRUTH TEETH!?” Stan and Ford yelled. 

“How –”

“Threw them away –”

“Bottomless Pit –”

“Like six layers of chains –”

“ _Bottomless Pit!_ ” 

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Switched 'em out with a set of plastic chompers covered with gold paint. You must've really wanted to get rid of it, Stan, normally you'd recognize fake gold a mile away through a fog at midnight.” 

Mr. Donner's eyes were actually gleaming. “Are those – is that – ”

“Solid gold, baby!” Mabel said, all but shoving them at him. “And don't go spreadin' it around, huh? I only give stuff like this to dentists who give _me_ free annual check-ups!” 

“For this I'd give you a free root canal. _Ten_ free root canals.” 

“Let's stick a pin in that. C'mon, grephews, time's a-wastin'!” She trotted out the door, leaving Donners reverently holding the teeth. A tear actually rolled down the man's cheek. 

“But, but, but,” Ford stammered, hurrying to catch up with her. “I don't even – why would you –”

“If you're so worried about money all the time, why'd you just _give the gold away?_ ” Stan asked. “You could've melted it down or something!” 

She shrugged. “Some things are better left secret,” she said, heading out the door. “Now c'mon, I got a tour of my own and it starts in twenty minutes!” 

“Hey – wait a minute, we never finished our card game!” 

“WHAT I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE ROAR OF THE ENGINE!” 

 

July 23 (Evening)

The Teeth were evidently switched out of the case by the notorious Grauntie Mabel. Fortunately, she decided to use the Teeth as payment for today's dental appointments, and the town dentist has a personal collection of teeth which he keeps under lock and key. I must agree that there could be no safer storage place for the Teeth, despite of the oddity of the collection in which it has been placed. 

(I would very much have liked to gone back to study said collection, as I found what appears to be an actual set of leprecorn teeth – see sketch on the previous page. Unfortunately, Stan succeeded in lifting a very fine payara tooth fossil, so I doubt further cooperation from the dentist will be forthcoming,). 

Overall my first visit to the dentist's was a success, and neither Stanley nor myself required anything further than a basic teeth cleaning. I admit some anxiety, however, over the dentist's observations of my brother. A mouth guard would hardly protect him - if she mentions this to Grenda, the wrestler may deduce the truth. I need to keep Grauntie Mabel distracted from this, in addition to continuing my efforts with the Crystal Code. I wish I could enlist Mabel's help with both problems - with her wiles she might find a creative solution far more quickly than I – but as my brother would say, I have more tics than the sea has salt. I'm not sure I could share the code with her without revealing the existence of a certain three-sided demon. And if she learns of this, Grauntie Mabel may send me straight to a hospital...or back home, alone. Stan and I would be separated. I am utterly unwilling to risk it.

Grauntie Mabel was right. Some things are better left secret.


	13. Society of the Blind Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT'S HEEEERE!

Valerie swept up the floor of Greasy's Diner with a stiff straw broom. She shooed Crazy Chu out from under a booth – for the sixth night in a row – as well as a mangy-looking raccoon. That raccoon had been showing up near Chu quite often. Probably following Chu for the Raccoon Overloards, testing whether Chu could be used as an ally against the sewer gators. 

Valerie set a pie out to cool on the windowsill and locked up, muttering under her breath. “Twenty-six manholes in Gravity Falls, 98 windows within one hundred feet of a manhole, too many entrances, I've tried to warn them all. Greasy Diner's windows face northwest, apparently attract little men with red caps –”

_Wait WHAT?!_

She froze and whirled around. 

Four tiny men with thick bears stood under the window of the Greasy Diner. Three of them were stacked on each other's shoulders while the fourth barked orders. 

“Lift with your knees. No, your knees! If I go one more hour without eating, I'm gonna resort to cannibalism!” He caught Valerie staring and tipped his cap at her. “Ma'am.”

“ _LITTLE MAGIC MEN!_ ” she screeched. “ _I knew it, I knew it, I have to tell someone!_ ” 

She sprinted across the street to the payphone in front of the museum. She shoved in a quarter and dialed the police with shaking fingers. 

The Sheriff answered. “How may I help –”

“You have to come right away!” Valerie shouted. “I've got proof this time, there's –”

Something dark and smelly was shoved over her head and huge meaty hands grabbed Valerie's arms. She was dragged kicking and screaming from the payphone. Over her own shrieking, she heard a low voice murmuring something: 

“ _It is unseen._ ” 

 

Ford pinned a man's silhouette to his theory board. The board had a series of newspaper articles, thumbprints, photos of suspicious townsfolk, and pictures of the author's own machinery from the bunker. Color-coded yarn (obtained from Mabel) connected some of them together. There were two pieces of cardboard pinned to the top of the board, reading: WHO IS THE AUTHOR?

Ford stepped back on his bed, trying to see an overall pattern. “Alright, author, who are you?” He chewed absently on the tip of the pen. “Who are y– oh, not again!” The pen had broken and spurted over his face. He wiped himself off and tossed the broken implement in a box labeled “Thinking Pens”. 

“HEY BRO BRO LOOK WHAT I GOT!” 

Ford turned just as Stan flopped face-up on the bed. He was grinning and holding up a green glass bottle with a note inside. 

“Yay, a filthy green bottle.” 

“Better! Leather Vest found it on the shore when I let him and his girlfriend use our boat for their date. Well, he didn't so much _find_ it as it was lobbed at his head, but you get the point. Wanna see what's inside?!” 

“Sure, I guess.” He sat down next to Stan, who was working the cork out of the bottle's mouth. 

“I bet it's a treasure map – or a message from a lost and nearly-dead millionaire looking for an heir – or maybe a message from that siren!” 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “You're not _that_ desperate for a date, are you?” 

“Ah-HA!” The cork popped off and Stan unrolled it. He gasped. “It is from the siren! Maybe she wants to get back together!” 

“Uh, Stan, you do remember she tried to drown us, right?” 

Stan cleared his throat. “'Dear Stan'. Oh, she totally digs me right now. 'I regret to inform you' – definitely flirting here – 'that I will be unable to drown you and suck out your soul, because the tides are literally beginning to turn and I have to make it back to the ocean in time for fishing season.'”

“Why would a siren want to go fishing?” Ford wondered. 

“'Sirens don't really need to eat fish, but there are lots of tasty fishermen who are _way_ hunkier than you.' OH NO SHE DIDN'T!” Stan stood up angrily. 

“Whoa whoa where are you going?” 

“I'm going down to the lake to give this siren a piece of my mind!” He marched to the door. 

“I'm sorry, did I miss something? I repeat, the siren tried to _drown us._ ” 

“It's the principal of the thing!” Stan stopped at the doorway and spun around, the note still clenched in one hand, the bottle in the other. He gestured angrily, waving them around. “No one tells Stan there are other people _hunkier_ than me! That's just not friggin' possible! And yet I've had three, count 'em _four_ girlfriends one after the other and _all_ of them have dumped me!” 

“Four?” 

Stan ticked them off. “Carla McBackstabber, a dryad, Marilyn, and the siren.” 

“I don't remember the dryad.” 

“Forget it.” Stan sat down heavily and pulled his Memorabilia Album from the laundry basket. He stuck the Siren's letter into the first blank page he found and stared at it dismally. “I can't believe this...our first summer away from home. I was supposed to go on this great adventure, find a bunch of treasure, and meet a hot girl. Instead I get dumped. I'm not even a nerd! What gives?!” 

Ford gave him a Look at the nerd comment, but Stan was so dejected he didn't even notice.

“Aw, Stan...” Ford got off the bed and walked over to his brother. Then he practically smooshed Stan's head down between his shoulders with a noogie. 

“Wh – HEY!” 

“C'mon, Romeo. You can help me with my conspiracy board, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah...” Stan let Ford drag him over to Ford's bed, where he flopped back down, the green bottle still in his hand. 

“I'm trying to look for commonalities between the townsfolk and anything I know about the author,” Ford explained. “I thought it would be a good mental break from that crystal code. The author's handwriting, for instance, not to mention his erudite vocabulary, would be difficult for the layman to replicate.” 

“You're not gonna go through people's trash, are you?” 

“We'll save that as a last resort.” Ford sighed and glanced over at the broken laptop sitting on his nightstand. “I really wish I hadn't lost the journal. It was my best hope at finding the author, too...” 

“Don't beat yourself up over it, dude,” Stan said, holding up the bottle to his eye like a telescope. “Bill already did that for you. Plus, if even Ria couldn't get that thing fully functional, chances are OH MY GOSH FORD LOOK!” 

“What, what?!” 

Stan shoved the bottle at Ford's chest and pointed to the laptop. “The laptop – look at the laptop!” 

“Through your bottle?” 

“Just do it!” 

Ford looked. And then he gasped. 

Written on the bottom of the laptop were the words: Chu Laboratory. 

“'Chu'? As in ' _Crazy Chu'_?!” 

Stan looked up. “Sixer...you don't think...?” 

“It couldn't be! It doesn't make any sense! Unless...” Ford looked at the board, thoughts racing through his head. He'd put Chu in the “Not Likely” category – but that didn't mean it wasn't her. He went straight for her photo and started moving the strings around, muttering under his breath. 

He'd actually seen – and taken a picture – of the words “Property of” on the laptop – the letter after it was hard to read, maybe a D or a C – so maybe that maybe that meant it belonged to C, as in Chu? And the journal had a shimmering pine tree on it, but wasn't Chu always chewing on a pine needle? And in the dump she could hide anything, anywhere, and no one would think to look for it – heck, at one point Ford had seen a miniature chem lab set into a broken car where the engine would've been. Plus Chu built all those crazy robots, so she might be crazy, but she was still crazy _smart_. Which would have to mean...

Ford stepped back. All the strings had now been redirected – with a picture of Crazy Chu at the center. He gasped. 

“ _Crazy Candy Chu wrote the journal?!_ ” 

 

Dan and Seandra were hanging out in the Gift Shop. 

Actually, Dan was listening to music while carving a piece of wood, and Seandra was trying to ignore the music while investigating the Shack with a magnifying glass. She was convinced there was still an actual mystery in the Mystery Shack, and she was determined to find it...no matter how much annoying music she had to listen to.

“ _Am I blanchin', girl we blanchin'. I live up in a mansion._ ” 

Dan joined in on the refrain. “ _Am I blanchin', girl we blanchin'! I live up in a mansion!_ ” 

“Ugggh, that is it!” Seandra stood up from where she'd been checking under a shelf and stuffed her magnifying glass back in her pocket. “I can't get that terrible song out of my head!” 

“That's the idea!” Dan barked. “I only listen to annoying music. That way it's stuck in my head and I can set a rhythm to chopping wood!”

“That's...actually quite clever but _whyyyy this song?!_ And what _is_ blanchin', anyway?! Rappers can't just make up words!” 

“People do it all the time! It's called slang!” 

“Yeah but they don't put it to annoying music and force you to listen to it over and over and over! It's like some kinda corporate conspiracy to brainwash the youth!” She paused. “Heeey...you don't think –”

Ford burst into the room, Stanley close behind. “Seandra! Dan! We need to go see Crazy Chu!”

“Wait what? Why?” 

“We'll explain on the way!” Stan shouted. They raced past and Stan grabbed Seandra's hand and dragged her out the door. Ford grabbed Dan's carving so he'd follow them and the four of them took off across the lawn (with Dan yelling at them to give his carving back, he hadn't gotten the ears right on the bear's head yet.)

“Hey I think I hear yelling!” Ford called. 

“It's Mabel telling us to get to work!” Stan called back. 

“Run faster!” Seandra said, and she grabbed both of their hands and raced to the road, Manly Dan right behind them. 

 

They reached the junkyard. Ford was actually not out of breath for once – all that running from crazy monsters sure improved cardiovascular fitness. 

Dan pulled up the chainlink fence and the four of them crawled through the opening. 

“Crazy Chu!” Ford called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Are you here?” 

“Heeere, hill billy billy billy billy,” Stan said. Dan whacked him lightly on the head and Stan laughed. 

They heard more laughter and Ford led them around a big pile of junked cars. 

There was a ramshackle building made of junk at the base of an electrical pole. The walls were made of random bits of tossed-out TVs, dressers, and planks of wood, while the roof was made of old car hoods and sheet metal. There was a rocking chair and a couple of dead possums on the roof. A light shone from inside, surprisingly bright and warm-looking, and there was a banjo by the front door. 

There were also two kids right outside it, D'Andre and Reggie, who were spreading fast-dry cement over one of the walls. 

Crazy Chu poked her head out. “Hey! What're you kids doin'?!” 

“We had some extra cement from a – well, we won't say _why_ we needed it,” D'Andre said, smiling mischievously. 

“But we thought it might help seal up some of the cracks in your shack,” Reggie explained. 

“Awww, that's awful nice a you!” Chu beamed at them. “You boys want to come on in and have some possum stew? I think there's a freshly dead possum on the roof!” 

On cue the possum flipped over, snarled at them, and scampered away. 

D'Andre shuddered. “Yeah, no thanks.” 

Reggie packed up the bucket. “Just let it dry for twelve hours and you should be good to go.” 

They waved and headed off. Chu waved after them, still smiling a little. 

“ _I love getting visitors...but I wish they'd stay awhile,_ ” she said quietly in Korean. Then she looked up and caught sight of Ford and the others. Her whole face lit up with joy. “Visitors! Come, come, pull up some rusty metal!” 

Ford glanced at Stan.

“Hey, as long as she doesn't offer me possum, I'm fine,” Stan muttered.

Ford grimaced and followed Chu into the Shack. 

The inside was just as cobbled-together as the outside, and there was so much junk Ford had to watch his step. Socks, fly swatters, washtubs, the metal frames of lawn chairs – it was like a miniature junk pile. Pots, pans, and what Ford sincerely hoped was a stuffed rat hung on one wall. 

Chu led them to a wash basin and turned, smiling. “You're just in time for the hourly turf war with the hillbilly what lives in my mirror! _Quit staring at me when I bathe!_ ” she screeched in Korean at her reflection. 

“You can drop the act, Chu. I know you're the author.” Ford took out the journal, holding it up. “You studied the mysteries of this town and wrote this book!” 

Seandra nodded and took the laptop out of the backpack they'd brought. “You're the genius Ford's been searching for all summer.” 

Chu sniffed at the laptop. “Eh...genius...? I'm no genius.” She turned away and knuckle-walked back to the basin. “I've never done nothin' worthwhile in my life. Ever'body knows I'm no good to nobody.” She looked up at the wall. There was a framed _Gravity Falls Gossiper_ hanging over the wash bin, with the headline, “Local Coot Continues Downward Slide.” It even had a picture of her eating a raccoon. A photo of her daughter appeared at the bottom, hand out, trying to push the camera away. Chu touched the newspaper timidly. “I can't remember what I used to be...but I must've been a big failure to end up like this.” 

Dan frowned. “The laptop has your name on it!” 

“Yeah!” Stan put in. 

Ford nodded. “What about this book? Are you sure you didn't write it? Here – look closely.” He held it up to her and started flipping slowly through the pages. 

Chu stared at the book obediently, frowning. “I tol'ja, I don't recall! Everything before 1982 is just a blur – just a...hazy...” 

Ford stopped turning the pages, but before he could speak Chu gave an ear-splitting shriek and leaped backwards, banging into the washbin and the piles of trash behind it. 

Seandra jumped. “What? What is it?” 

Ford looked down. It was the page called – 

“ _THE BLIND EYE!_ ” Chu shouted, pointing a shaking finger at the book. “I – robes, the men – my mind – they _did something!_ ” 

“Who did?!” Ford and Seandra asked at once. 

“I...oh I don't recall...” She rubbed her temples. 

Stan was frowning. “You know,” he started, but Ford cut him off. 

“What if Chu learned something she wasn't supposed to know, and this person – or persons – messed with his mind?” 

Seandra was practically vibrating with excitement. “I knew it, I knew there was a secret cult in Gravity Falls! We totally have to investigate.” 

“Agreed.” Ford stashed the book back in his jacket. “Chu, think: what's the earliest thing you remember?” 

“Uh...” She looked up and pointed. There was a smaller, much older newspaper tacked to the wall next to the framed one. She took it down and held it for them to see. “This is...I think.” 

Ford looked. The headline read “Disoriented Woman Found at Museum”, surrounded by pigeons, including one sitting very comfortably on her head. Ford saw the background and gasped. 

“The history museum!” 

“That's where I climbed when I was little!” Seandra shouted. 

“Uh, guys,” Stan said, but Ford grabbed his hand. 

“C'mon – you too, Chu! We're gonna get to the bottom of this!” 

 

They reached the museum. (Chu had ridden piggy-back on Manly Dan, who kept singing _Street Blanchin'_ until Seandra threatened to shave his beard when he was sleeping.) 

The museum seemed even taller than Stan remembered, and the slowly sinking sun cast a heavy shadow on the lower half of the building. The carvings at the top – especially that triangle right over the door – seemed to glow in contrast. Stan suppressed a shudder. 

“You know, maybe we could find something else to do today,” he said. “Like cut crop circles in a lawn or egg the Gleeful house.” 

Ford ignored him and went right up to the door. “It's locked.” 

“Too bad, time to go!” Stan said, but Seandra went up to the window and jiggled it. 

“Ha, knew it. These things stick and Maureen never bothers shutting it all the way.” She shoved it open. “Everybody in. Dan, you might have to squeeze.” 

Stan was half-hoping Dan wouldn't fit. As much as he liked sneaking into random buildings, this place was giving him the creeps. He couldn't figure out why, either. He'd been here before when he was solving that mystery with Ford. What was different about it now? 

Unfortunately, Dan _did_ fit, and they all crept quietly inside. 

“Alright,” Ford said, “everyone keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious.” 

Stan sort of walked around the room, trying to make it seem like he was actually looking for something. He walked past an obviously fake cat and broke off one of its fangs – perfect souvenir for his memory-book, at least. He started feeling a little better. 

And then he saw a bulletin board with a poster of Marilyn tacked on it. 

Dan grunted behind him and he jumped. “Stan? You okay?” 

“It's nothing!” Stan said a little too loudly. “It's, uh – it's...” 

Dan squinted at the poster. “Isn't that your ex?” 

“Yeah, so?” 

Dan clapped him on the back so hard Stan felt his ribs creak. “Be glad. Didn't seem nice. You gotta wait for the right one.” 

“Exactly how much waiting do I have to do, though?” Stan asked, scowling at the picture. “I've had like half a dozen girlfriends and they all left me, dumped me, or tried to kill me.” He reached up and snatched down the picture, crumpling it in his hands. And then he saw a _Nice Girlz_ poster behind it. “Oh, come on!” 

“So your last memory was here,” Ford was saying to Chu. Stan stuffed the poster in his pocket and headed towards him, trying not to think about creepy stuff or girl stuff or stuff in general. Dan followed. 

Chu was looking around, tapping her chin. “I –”

“Guys, _look!_ ” Seandra shouted. 

They looked. There was a dark figure at the end of the next hall, and just as they saw it, it dashed out of sight! 

“Come back!” Ford shouted, and they all chased after it, Chu running on all fours with Ford and Seandra in the lead. 

The hallway turned right and dead-ended in a room filled with eyeballs. (Fake ones, but still.) A roaring fireplace filled one wall, but aside from that, it was like some kind of weird optometrist funkyland. Fake eyes on the ceiling, fake eye dioramas on tables, fake eyes in glass jars – 

“Whoa this is _creepy,_ ” Stan said, looking around. “Hey, you think this is where Grauntie Mabel got her jar of eyes in the Gift Shop?” 

“I'm with you on the creepy part, but where did the guy go?” Seandra asked. “We were right behind him!” 

Crazy Chu was twisting her hands together. She backed up against the far wall. “I...feel like all these eyeballs are a-watchin' me...” 

Ford looked up. “Wait – they are!” He pointed. All the eyeballs on the far wall were actually staring straight at Crazy Chu! 

“Duuuude!” Stan said. 

“Step aside,” Ford told Chu, and when she moved they saw some kind of weird stone carving built right into the wall. It was about the size of a regular brick, but triangular, with an eyeball right in the center with four lines drawn diagonally around it, so that if they were connected they'd form an X right over the pupil. 

Ford walked up to it, looked it over, and then pushed it. 

There was a grinding sound behind Stan and he turned. The whole inside of the fireplace slid sideways, revealing a secret tunnel down into the earth. 

“Jackpot!” Seandra cried. 

“A secret passageway!” Ford said. 

“We'll have to be stealthy,” Chu said. “I'll hambone a message if there's trouble!” She demonstrated tapping her thigh, head, ribs, and shoulder. 

Ford blinked a few times. “I have no idea what that means.” 

“Do you actually _have_ sweatbread?” Stan said eagerly. 

They started down. The passageway was a stone staircase with two stone torch-holders built into the walls halfway down. The flames cast an eerie, reddish glow over the stone. 

There was a heavy scarlet curtain at the bottom of the stairs, and even through the thick fabric, they could hear the sound of several deep voices chanting hypnotically. 

Stan hesitated. Those voices – something about them...

Then he saw his brother getting ahead and Stan hurried forward, catching a corner of Ford's jacket. 

Ford paused at the curtain, waiting for everyone to gather together, and then pulled it slightly open. 

The curtain led to a huge stone cavern, with more stones laid in a circular pattern on the floor. The room was so big that most of it was in shadow, but there was a dim light focused on the room's center. Six men in scarlet robes and hoods stood around a small gold table, with an even smaller treasure chest sitting on the table's top. To the left, almost out of sight, was a bronze chair with red velvet cushions. It looked almost like they'd turned a barber's chair into a throne – until Stan saw the manacles built into the armrests. He broke into a cold sweat. 

Suddenly he thought of Fiddleford. He was starting to understand why the guy hadn't hung around them much lately. Not when they investigated stuff like this. 

All at once the chanting stopped and the figures moved. Stan grabbed Ford's arm reflexively, ready to pull him back and get the heck out of there – but the figures only moved forward, each of them touching the little treasure chest. 

A seventh guy stepped out of the shadows. He was taller than the rest, and his hood was pulled back a little, so Stan could see his powerful chin, the cheeks that sucked in under the sharp bones of his face. 

“Who is the subject of our meeting?” asked King Creepy. 

Something moved on their left. Ford and Stan gasped. Two more hooded figures were bringing a woman to the center of the circle. They were gripping her by the arms, tightly, and she had a bag over her head. 

The first six figures spoke. “ _This woman._ ” 

They pulled the hood off. 

“Valerie? From the _Diner?_ ” Stan said. 

Seandra squinted. “What's she doing here?”

The two guys holding Valerie strapped her into the chair. She looked white as a sheet and she was shaking slightly. 

King Creepy folded his hands together. “What is it that you have seen?” 

“ _Speak!_ ” said the others. 

“I – I was – leaving the diner – and I saw these little b-beared men –”

“Don't worry.” The King went to the table and opened the treasure chest. Stan was expecting gold or something, but instead the man pulled out – 

“Is that a _gun?_ ” Seandra asked. 

Stan squeezed Ford's arm tighter. His mouth went dry. 

The King turned, fiddling with the gun, like he was adjusting the setting. “You won't be terrified for much longer,” he said, and he raised the gun.

Dan gasped. “HEY –”

His shout was lost over Valerie's cry as a huge, hot beam of light shot out of it and hit her full in the face. For a split second something flashed in front of Stan's eyes – he felt like he heard Fiddleford screaming – and then it was over and the guy was lowering the gun. Valerie was just sitting there, her face blank. 

The King raised his arms. “Valerie Dahlman! What do you know of little bearded men?” 

“My mind is clear, thanks to the Society of the Blind Eye,” she said robotically. 

The robe guys all raised their arms. “ _IT IS UNSEEN!_ ”

Stan's knees gave and he leaned against the stone wall, trying to catch his breath. Luckily everyone else was still focused on the room ahead. 

Ford grabbed Stan's arm. “Did you see that?” he asked excitedly, staring into the room.

“They just erased Valerie's _memories!_ ” Seandra whispered. 

Chu started ham boning. 

_Oh, #$%@!_

 

The robed guys were already unlocking Valerie's restraints. Ford stepped back slightly from the curtain so they could all get a better look. 

“Guys, are you seeing this? They just wiped Valerie's memories!” 

“I know, dude, I just said that,” Seandra said, but she was staring almost angrily at the room. “What if – that time when I was little, what if I _did_ find them, and they did that to me? What if they've been doing it to _everyone?_ ” 

“Valerie Dahlman,” they heard the lead cultist ask. “How do you feel?” 

Valerie looked up, blinking, and shrugged. “Fine, I suppose. Was something wrong? Did I get abducted by aliens again? Because there was this one dream I had where aliens abducted me and then I woke up the next morning in a field of cows with weird crop circle designs on their fur and...” 

Two of the robed guys led her off, still babbling. 

The cultist turned away and looked back at the gun. Ford's eyes went wide. The cultist pressed something and a whole section of the gun opened up with a hiss, revealing a small glass tube inside. 

“All your memories will be safe with us,” he said, “buried in the Hall of the Forgotten.” 

The cultist labeled the tube and then brought it to a small bronze chute on the other side of the room. The other cultists made way for him, chanting. 

“ _Into the Hall of the Forgotten...Into the Hall of the Forgotten..._ ” 

“Good chanting, boys!” the leader said. “Have you been practicing?” 

The tube was placed at the bottom of the chute and immediately sucked in. Ford and the others followed it with their gaze. The tube led up, ran along the ceiling, and then out of the room – right between the curtains where he was standing! Ford quickly snapped the curtains shut in case anyone had watched it go. They couldn't afford to get discovered. 

They listened carefully. It sounded like the cult leader was declaring the meeting adjourned. Everyone kept saying “Unsee you later.” Ford winced at how juvenile they sounded, and he glanced over at Stan, thinking at least his brother would be enjoying the pun. But Stan was leaning against the wall, looking pale and slightly sick. 

_Geez, I told him not to mix Mabel's casserole with pistachio ice cream last night._

Ford waited until the room sounded quiet, peeked through the curtain, and then motioned them through. Maybe because the meeting was over and they didn't need the creepy atmosphere, the cultists had lighted more torches along the walls as they left. There were a few pillars spread evenly around the edges of the room, and a couple closer to the middle, just outside of the stone circle where they'd erased Valerie's memories. 

Ford went right up to the treasure chest. The memory gun was sitting inside, resting on a small metal stand. 

“Amazing...a secret society of evil mind-erasers.” 

“I can't _believe_ I didn't bring my camera!” Seandra said. She took out her notebook and started scribbling furiously. “Must...crack...conspiracies...” 

Dan edged away from Seandra. “Bet they erased Chu's memories a long time ago,” he grunted. 

Ford nodded. “Agreed. In fact, it was probably back in 1982 – the same year you said you can't remember. Something must've happened before then that they wanted you to forget!” He took out the journal and flipped back to the Blind Eye page. “If we could find where your memories are hidden, it could be the key to unlocking all the mysteries of Gravity Falls! Alright, we gotta look for it. Chu, Dan –” He looked up and did a double-take. Stan was actually holding his stomach and leaning against one pillar, not looking around at anything. Ford winced. His brother must have one crazy stomach ache. “Okay, actually, Stan 'n' Dan, why don't you two stay here. Keep an eye out and make sure those robe guys come back.”

The two of them grunted in agreement. 

Ford turned. “Seandra, Chu, we're gonna go find the Hall of the Forgotten.” 

“We are?” Seandra said eagerly, looking up. But she'd wandered too close to the chute and it sucked the pen right out of her hand. She yelped. 

“Quick! Follow that pen!” Ford shouted, and the three of them dashed out of the room. 

 

Ford ran down the hall, legs pumping, head up to watch as the pen sped through the pipe. It ran along the ceiling, up the staircase, into the eyeball room, and then right back into the museum. He thought briefly how odd it was that he didn't notice it coming into the museum – but of course it was dark and it would've just looked like a regular plumbing pipe or something. 

The pipe took a hard right past the dinosaur exhibit and into the history hall about Oregon's pioneers. Ford went to follow and suddenly a voice rang down the hall. 

“ _HALT!_ ” 

Chu panicked. “Wh-whaddowedo?!” 

“Hide!” 

A minute later, two men in red robes rushed into the room, looking around. 

The room, however, looked completely undisturbed. The three of them had disguised themselves perfectly in the gold miner's exhibit, where Crazy Chu was posing as a miner, rubber pick-ax in hand; Ford was panning for gold, distinctive fingers hidden under the tin; and Seandra was posing as a baker, holding a pie marked up to $7.50. (Today that would be like charging $100 per pie. Stan would approve.)

“Maybe it was nothing?” one cloaked cultist said. 

“Hmm...” 

The other cultist went up to Crazy Chu and examined her closely. “Ew, this one was even carved with earwax.” 

“That's a little _too_ much detail.” 

“Right? Remind me to erase that from my memory.” 

They left, chuckling under their breath, and Ford relaxed. 

“Whew! At least I didn't have to pose as a baby or something. _That_ would've been embarrassing!” 

“But wait, where's the pipe?” Seandra said. 

“There!” Ford sprang to his feet and chased after the pen just as it whizzed overhead. The other two dropped their props and followed. 

The pipe went to the back of the museum into the storage area, where there was a hole cut in the wall the pole slid straight down into it. The space was plenty big enough, so Ford jumped to the pole and slid straight down like a fireman. 

The bottom of the pole curved up along the ceiling of a basement, about at the same level as that weird cultist room where they'd erased Valerie's memories. Ford dropped to the floor and stepped away quickly so no one would fall on top of him. 

The room was actually more like a lobby or something, small, with a huge wooden door on the far wall carved with an eye. Red spray paint had been used to draw an X over the eye, and the chute passed right through it where the pupil would've been. 

Ford went up to it. He waited until Chu and Seandra had caught up. Then, carefully, he pushed it open. 

“What even _is_ this?” Seandra whispered. 

The room was packed with crates filled with little glass tubes. More glass tubes were piled everywhere, along the walls, even in the middle of the floor. Dozens of chutes hung like stalactites from the ceiling, running back into the walls. The far wall held a huge stone arc centered on the statue of a robed figure with his arms spread out to either side, and rows of tubes stood at his feet and along the narrow stone shelves behind the statue. A torch was lit on either side of the statue, and shadow and light flickered over its face, making the carved figure seem almost alive. 

“Honey fogelin', salt-lickin' skull duggery!” Chu exclaimed. 

_Stan would love to learn those old-timey swear words_ , Ford thought. 

 

Stan lay on his back on the stone circle. It was actually a _raised_ stone circle, with little stairs all around it, connecting to the two pillars on either end of the room. Stan lay on the edge so his right arm and leg dangled over the steps. His stomach was really bothering him. And he couldn't shake this weird feeling that there was somebody with a gun aimed at his head. 

He heard Dan grunt. “Ford still has my carving!” 

“So what.” 

“I'm bored and I need to get those ears right!” 

“Carve a stone or something, then.” 

There was a pause. “Still thinkin' 'bout your ex?” 

“Sure.” Better to talk about _that_ then the whole gun thing and sound crazy. 

“Haven't seen you flirt much lately.” 

“Well what's the _point?_ ” Stan sat up. “I mean, I know I'm hot tamales, but apparently I'm too hot to handle because I just end up dumped or soaking wet or with leaves comin' outta my ears!” 

Dan nodded. “That can happen. Just don't like seeing you down.” 

“Whatever,” Stan mumbled. He got up and wandered over to the memory gun. This thing gave off seriously bad vibes, and Stan was getting sick and tired of feeling...well, sick. He grabbed it and picked it up defiantly. “Wooo, look at me! I'm a scary cloaked guy! Zap zap.” He pointed it at the wall opposite them. “Who even came up with this thing? It's got a _lightbulb_ sticking out of it. Looks like something from a bad cartoon.”

“I don't think you should mess with that,” Dan said, getting up. 

“I mean at least it doesn't kill you or anything,” Stan said, tapping it against his palm. “But like, why would you erase memories in the first place? You'd have to be crazy or desperate or both to – HEY! What if I erased the memories of me in all my exes? Then I could try getting back together with them but this time I'd know what to watch out for!”

Dan held up both hands. “I _really_ don't think you should mess with that. What if you forgot something important, like learning how to read or breathe?” 

“But this thing's _perfect!_ Got a pop quiz? ZAP! Your teacher forgets to give it to you! Got a song stuck in your head? ZAP! Now there's nothing in there at all! Bet Seandra would like _that_ one.” 

 

Ford dug through the piles of tubes. Seandra was nearby, humming and doing the exact same thing. 

“Ugh, no, I'm humming that stupid song!” she growled. “Why why _why_ does it have to be _that song_ stuck in my head?!” 

“Let's just keep looking,” Ford said. “Chu's memories have to be in here somewhere...” 

“There's hundreds of them. People must've been getting their memories erased all over town! You think they did me? You think mine's in here?” 

“I don't see why not. Hey – look, this one's Aaron's!” 

Chu peered over his shoulder. “There's a thingamajig at the back that looks like a TV! Let's watch a home video!” 

They went to the back of the room. There was indeed a little table with a television monitor. In front of the monitor was a small bronze-lined bog with circular slots at either end to hold the memory tube. Ford put in Aaron's memories and the screen came to life. 

Aaron was sitting in the mind-erasing chair. A voice off screen said, “Tell us, Aaron. What is it that you have seen?” 

“So I was attacked by this magic kung-fu guy that was throwing like, balls of fire at me,” Aaron said. “I kicked his butt though!” 

“Aaron. Speak honestly.” 

“...I was saved by a twelve-year-old.” 

Ford stepped back, rubbing his chin. “But why are they erasing people's memories? I could understand it if they discovered the cult and the cultists wanted to keep themselves secret. But this doesn't have anything to do with the cult at all.” 

“Maybe if we watched a few more memories, we could figure out a pattern,” Seandra suggested. 

Suddenly Chu called out to them from over by the statue. 

“Lookie, fellers! It's those words what people call me!” She was pointing to one of the tubes on the shelves behind it. 

Ford grinned. “Oh, Chu, your memories! We did it!” 

“Pop it in and let's check it out!” Seandra said. 

“Grabby grabby!” Chu climbed up the statue, crouched on its arm, and reached behind it to grab her tube. “I got it!”

Ford yelled and leaped back. A stone eye opened in the arch above the statue, glowing blood-red, and an alarm started going off so loud Ford could feel it through his shoes. 

 

Stan was poking around the room, looking for something he could leave in the gun's place so they wouldn't figure out it was missing. 

“You think they'd be fooled if I took a few paper clips and wired them into the _shape_ of a gun?” 

“I think you should put it back and forget about it. The _normal_ way,” Dan added. 

“Pfft.” 

Suddenly a loud beeping noise pierced the room. They looked up. There was a red flashing light in the middle of the ceiling, and it was flashing in time with the beeping. 

“Oh no – IT'S THE COPS!”

“Forget the cops! We've been caught!” 

 

“The alarm in my brain is a-ringin' again!” Chu shouted, scooting along the arm. Then she looked behind her and saw the stone eye following her. She yelled and dropped the tube. Ford caught it just as the door to the vault burst open and cloaked cultists poured through. 

“Halt! Who's there!?” 

“Oh no!” 

“RUN!” Ford shouted. 

Chu scrambled down behind the statue but there was no way they could all fit. Ford dove for a hallway at the back of the vault, Seandra right behind him. They raced down the narrow passage, the cultists in hot pursuit, shouting for them to stop. 

_Hide, hide, hide, gotta hide!_

Ford saw a change in the light up ahead – there was a row of three statues set back into the wall. Perfect!

He grabbed Seandra's arm and dove behind them. They hid in the space between the statues and the wall. The cultists ran right past them. 

Ford peeked out. “Okay, I think we're safe.” 

“Are you sure we –”

And then a pair of hands wrapped around Ford's eyes and yanked him deeper into darkness. 

 

 _Well,_ Stan thought grumpily, _that could've gone better._

He, Ford, Seandra, and Dan were all tied up at the base of one of the pillars in the vault. Stan and Dan had tried to run back up the staircase, but a bunch of cloak dudes were already coming down. They actually body-slammed Stan to the ground. Dan took a few down before one of them tripped him and Dan went sprawling. He was dazed long enough for them to hog-tie them both. The creepy guys then opened a wall – which under any other circumstances would've been friggin _awesome_ – and led them to a place where apparently they kept a lot of memory tubes. They'd been joined by Ford and Seandra a minute later. They hadn't gotten Crazy Chu, but Stan wasn't about to rat her out. 

The cloak guys closed in on them, chanting loudly. 

“I _knew_ this place was creepy!” Stan shouted. “Soon as I get free I'm given you so many lumps you'll look like a bowl of cold oatmeal!” 

“ _Oatmeal?!_ ” Ford repeated. “ _That's_ your big insult?” 

“I'm under a lot of pressure, here!” 

King Creepy leaned down and took something out of Ford's hand – a memory tube, probably Chu's. 

“You shouldn't have come here,” King Creepy growled. “We do not give up our secrets lightly.” 

Seandra and Ford were glaring daggers at him. 

“Who are you bathrobe-wearing freaks?” Seandra demanded. 

“Why are you doing this?” Ford asked.

“And is that a creepy British accent?” Stan added. 

“Well, I suppose we are going to erase your minds anyway.” King Creepy turned to the guys behind him and nodded. All of them started pulling off their hoods. 

In front of them stood Thompson Gables, a couple of random ladies he'd seen around at the mall, the bouncer from Skull Fracture, both Sprott farmers, and even the weird guy who married a woodpecker, with his wife still sitting on his shoulder. 

“Woodpecker guy?” Dan said, astonished. “ _You too?_ How's that marriage going, by the way?”

Woodpecker guy nodded. “Oh great, great.” Then he leaned in and whispered, “ _Not great._ ” 

Dan glanced at Stan like, _See? Everyone's got romance issues._

Stan glanced back like, _Dude, woodpeckers are NOT romantic at all._

“And you've never met me before,” said King Creepy. “And if you had, you wouldn't remember!” He threw back his hood. 

He was tall, pale, and completely bald, with a funny tattoo all over his skull. Like some kind of brain map, with each of the parts labeled stuff like Knowledge or Stress or Fear or something. He had a wicked scar on one of his eyes, too – his right eye had a pink X over it, and the pupil and iris were totally white. 

“Betcha he's called something like 'Blind Simon',” Stan muttered to Ford. 

“I am Blind Ivan –”

“Called it.” 

“– and we are the Society of the Blind Eye!” 

The creepy guys all drew their hands over their eyes, as if they were wiping something away. 

“Yeah, no, you guys gotta do a secret handshake,” Stan said. “It would be so much cooler.” 

Blind Ivan kept talking – something about a founder, and Gravity Falls, and weirdness – but Stan stopped paying attention at that point. There was something about these guys that really nagged at him. Made him feel ticked off and scared at the same time. Made him think of something – shadows? Something dark. Nighttime. And something rough. Grabbing at him, crushing his arm, and someone screaming to make it stop just like back at – 

“YOU!” Stan shouted, and he pulled so hard against the ropes that they went taut and Dan actually grunted. “YOU GUYS!” 

“Yes, yes, us guys, haven't you been listening?” Blind Ivan snapped. 

“SHUT UP! You guys attacked me and Fiddleford when we were on the way home from the woods! What happened? Where is he? What did you do to him?!” 

The room went dead silent. 

Then, before anyone could say a word, they heard a quiet voice. 

“Guys? Where is everybody?”

A much smaller cloaked figure entered the vault. The robe had obviously been cut to fit him, but it was still a little baggy. Like a mouse in a triple-X sweater. The figure pulled back his hood. 

“Darwin sent me a text that there was a meeting tonight, but I didn't...see...uh.”

Fiddleford took in the room and then his gaze locked onto Ford, who was sitting there with his jaw slack, staring at him. 

“Fiddleford?” Ford managed. 

Fiddleford looked away. “What're they doing here?” he asked Blind Ivan. 

“Better question – what're _you_ doing here?” Seandra asked. 

“Wearing _that?_ ” Stan put in. 

“The four of them broke into the Hall of the Forgotten,” Blind Ivan told Fiddleford. “We were just about to erase their minds. You can stay if you like, and if it upsets you, you can always erase it from your mind later.” 

“'Erase it from your _mind!?'_ ” Ford repeated. “Fiddleford, what the heck is he talking about?! These guys are evil mind-erasers!” 

Fiddleford turned back and glared at him. “They are _not_ evil. They helped me when I was scared, and every time I have a nightmare we use the memory gun to make it go away. I shouldn't be surprised to find you down here, though. I erased most of it, but I seem to remember you have a real knack for dragging people close to you into dangerous situa–” He broke off with a shudder and started chanting under his breath. 

“You see?” Blind Ivan turned to them triumphantly. “Or, I should say, you _don't_ see. Everyone has something they'd rather forget. Why, even your own brother was planning to use the memory gun on himself!” 

“You were?” Ford asked. 

“I was _not!_ Just on some teachers and ex-girlfriends and anybody else for the sole intention of benefitting myself.” 

“Yeah, that sounds more like you.” He turned back to Ivan. “Don't you see, this is ruining lives! What about Crazy Chu? She lives in a hut and talks to animals thanks to you! Don't you feel bad about that?” 

Fiddleford squirmed. “Is that...because of us...?” 

“Maybe a little.” Ivan zapped his own head. “But now I don't feel bad anymore. You won't be telling anyone else what you've learned here.” He held up the gun and started twisting the dial. “Say goodbye to your memories.” 

“Wait – but that's the whole summer!” Fiddleford protested. “We don't need to do that, we can just type in the Society!” 

“They know too much.” He raised the gun. 

“Wait –”

Suddenly a pie tin whizzed through the air and knocked the gun out of his hand. 

“AGH! Owie!” 

Chu leaped into the room like a kangaroo, pulling a trash can full of museum props. 

Stan, Ford, Seandra, and Dan all gasped at once. “Chu!” 

“I raided the mining display for weapons!” she said, slicing cleanly through their ropes. “Now grab somethin' and fight like a hillbilly, fellers!” 

They each grabbed a weapon – Dan grabbed a rubber ax (duh), Seandra grabbed a pick ax, and Ford grabbed a shovel. Stan saw Fiddleford's banjo in there and grabbed it. He was gonna bring the nerd back from the dark side, or he'd smash that stupid thing to pieces. Either way it'd be a win. 

“Don't let them escape!” Blind Ivan shouted, and the robe guys (Societers? Blind Eyers?) all charged them at once. 

“Get _this_ song outta your head!” Stan shouted, bashing a guy smack in the noggin. 

Seandra hooted with laughter and snagged a robe guy's hem with the point of her pickax, stopping him short so he tripped and went sprawling. 

Dan was a one-man ax army, and Ford was smacking the robe guys down like zombies. Stan darted through everybody's legs and went looking for Fiddleford, who saw him coming and fled down the hall, back towards the circular room. Stan raced after him, gasping for breath. Man that skinny dude could run fast! 

He made it back to the circular room and skidded to a stop. No sign of the nerd anywhere, but the curtains weren't swaying at all, so Stan was pretty sure he was still in the room. 

“They shot me in the face, Fiddleford!” Stan yelled. “Why the heck would you join a bunch of people who _shot me in the face?!_ ” 

“They're not as bad as you think they are!” 

Stan whipped around, but Fiddleford's voice was echoing and it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. 

“Oh yeah?” Stan called. “Then how come you were _begging_ me to save your sorry butt! And I stuck around and got zapped for it!” 

“I didn't _beg_ for it, I asked them to do it! You have no idea what kind of nightmares –” His voice broke off. 

Stan waited for a moment, but the nerd had gone silent. “You still remember them, don't you?” he said finally. “All the bad stuff you were trying to forget? You do, I know that silence! You _know_ that memory gun isn't making them go away. Not until your brain gets turned to mush like Crazy Chu's. You wanna end up like her, Fiddleford?” 

Silence. 

“FIDDLEFORD YOU GET YOUR BUTT OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR I'LL SMASH YOUR BANJO TO PIECES!” 

A long nose poked out from behind the pillar. “You wouldn't.” 

Stan drew the banjo back with a swish, like he was going to hit a baseball with it – only he was aiming for the nearest pillar. 

Fiddleford leaped out. “No no wait no STOP!” 

“'S what I thought.” Stan tossed the instrument at Fiddleford's feet. The nerd squealed and hurried to catch it before it could bounce against the stone. 

“Y-you don't know what it's like!” Fiddleford said, clutching the banjo to his chest and staring at the floor. “You're – brave and – you didn't see – there's no way to stop some of the – the _things_ out there, Stan!” 

“Gimme a break.” Stan took a step closer. “You know what? I don't care that you wanna forget or whatever. That time Carla thought I was lying, and the siren was trying to kill me – you stuck up for me. And when those guys tried to kidnap you, I don't care if you don't remember, I stuck up for _you_. But you were just gonna stand there when they were about to wipe our memories! You wanna be a coward and dump your memories down a tube, fine. But you stay away from me, and you stay away from Ford.” 

Fiddleford looked stunned. “I...I remember those things,” he said hesitantly. “Stan –”

“AAAAH!” 

“FORD!” they both yelled, and darted back down the tunnel. 

Blind Ivan had Ford, Seandra, and Dan pinned against the wall. It looked like everybody else in the Society was down for the count, but Ivan was on his feet, Chu's memory tube in one hand and the gun in the other. And it was pointed right at Ford. 

“STAY AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” Stan bellowed, and launched himself at Ivan. 

Ivan side-stepped and Stan rammed into a wall. He collapsed in a heap. 

His head pounded. Noises roared in his ears. Something grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him. He landed on something soft and hard at the same time – Ford, it had to be Ford, because whoever it was was holding him up carefully. 

_Oh great we're gonna die_ , he thought dazedly. 

“Stop, stop! They don't want to forget!” 

Fiddleford's shrill voice cut through the roaring in Stan's skull. He looked up. 

The nerd was hanging onto Ivan's arm like an overgrown possum, struggling to get the gun pointed away. 

“This isn't how you said it worked!” Fiddleford said. “You _said_ we erased memories to _help_ people! This isn't helping! They don't want to do it!” 

“Get – _off_ me – you _neophite!_ ” Ivan swung his arm and Fiddleford went sprawling at Stan's feet. 

“'eeey, on'y I get to beat up nerds,” Stan slurred. 

Ivan leveled the gun. “End of the line. By tomorrow, this will all seem like a bad dream. Say goodbye to your precious memories...” 

He pulled the trigger. 

“NO!” Ford shouted. Stan ducked, trying to drag his brother out of the way, forcing Fiddleford's head down – but then there was a zapping sound and nothing happened. Stan opened his eyes. 

Crazy Chu was standing between them and Ivan, bow-legged as ever, still as a statue. 

“Chu?” Ford said in astonishment. “You took a bullet for us...” 

_ZZZAAP._

“Omigosh! Are you okay!?”

She cackled. “Okay as I'll ever be!” 

“What?” 

Stan sat down heavily as Fiddleford sat up. The five of them, including Dan and Seandra, watched Chu advance on Ivan. Ivan backed up, firing shot after shot in Chu's face, but she just kept coming like some kind of hillbilly wind-up doll. 

Ivan looked seriously panicked now. “ _Why_ ” – zap – “ _isn't_ ” – zap – “ _this_ ” – zap – “ _working?!_ ” 

“Hit me with your best shot, Baldy!” Chu said, and then he zapped her in the face. “But my mind's been gone for thirty-odd years!” Another zap to the face. “You can't break what's already broken!” 

Fiddleford whimpered noise and scooted back next to Stan. 

Chu smacked the gun out of Ivan's hand and grabbed the front of his robe. “Say 'Goodnight, Sally!'” she cackled, and then did the most perfect headbutt Stan had ever seen. Ivan dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, out cold. 

“WOOHOO!” Stan cheered. “YOU GO, CRAZY CHU! You're gonna – oooh, I need to sit down.” 

“You're already sitting down,” Dan pointed out. 

“Then I need to lay down. And somebody stop the floor, I wanna get off.” Stan flopped over on Fiddleford. 

 

With all the Society cultists all down for the count (thanks to Manly Dan's muscles), it wasn't hard to round them up and erase their memories of the Society. Ford did the job himself. After that, Ford and Stan led the still-woozy amnesiacs out of the Museum, pretending that they'd visited for “Gold Miner Appreciation Night”. Stan took advantage of this by offering Chu's hat for tips, so Ford was pretty sure his brother would be just fine.

Ivan, unfortunately, had made the Society so much a part of his life that without it he literally didn't know who he was. 

Stan solved that problem. He handed Ivan a shovel and told him, “You name is Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle! You love to dig for gold and bring everything shiny to the Mystery Shack, c/o Stan Pines. Get diggin', Toot-Toot!” 

“Um...okay.” And then he actually went off to the woods to dig. 

Ford looked at Stan. “Really?” 

“Yes really I wanna get filthy rich by the end of the summer!” Stan leaned over and tapped Chu's memory tube. “So are we doing this thing or what?” 

They rejoined the others down in the vault. Fiddleford was still there, hovering in the background. They hadn't wiped his memory like the rest of the Society, which made Ford a little uneasy. What if he decided to try and take the gun back? 

Seandra had no such distractions. She hurried to the TV and flicked it on. “Al-right! Are you ready to crack some mysteries, Chu? See your memories and find out who you really are?” 

Chu hesitated. “I don't know...what if I don't like what I see?” 

Stan shrugged. “You might not. But you don't like being all muzzy-headed, either. So what's it gonna be?” 

“We'll be right here,” Ford added. 

Chu took a breath and then stepped towards the machine. She inserted her memory tube. The screen flickered to life. 

A young woman appeared on the screen, in what looked like some kind of classroom, with graphs tacked to the walls and a diagram scribbled on a chalkboard. The woman had narrow shoulders, long glossy hair, and dark eyes looking out from a pair of wire-framed glasses. 

“My name is Candy Jee Chu,” said the woman, “and I wish to unsee what I have seen.” 

They gasped. 

“Sweet sarsaparilla,” Chu whispered. 

The Chu on the screen adjusted her glasses, looking anxious. “For the past year, I have been working as an assistant with a visiting researcher. He has been cataloging his findings about Gravity Falls in a series of journals.” 

Ford glanced at Stan, stunned. _The author! She's talking about the author!_

He opened the journal and started flipping through the pages as young Chu kept talking. 

“I helped him build a machine which he believed had the potential to benefit all mankind. But something...” She paused, and the angle of the glasses hid her eyes. “...something went wrong.”

Ford found the page that looked like the designs for a futuristic super weapon. _Could this be the machine? What had gone wrong?_ He looked back at the screen. 

“I quit the project. But I lie awake at night, haunted by the thoughts of what I've done.” Young Chu looked up. “I believe I have invented a machine that can permanently erase these memories from my mind.” She reached down off-screen and lifted something into view – the memory gun!

“Test subject 1,” she said, pointing it at her head. “Candy Chu.” 

She pulled the trigger. 

The screen flashed with static and then Chu reappeared, looking happy and relaxed. 

“It worked!” she exclaimed. “I can't recall a thing!” 

Another flash of static.

Chu held up a small black journal, with the Blind Eye's symbol written in red. “I call it the Society of the Blind Eye,” Chu said, smiling. “We will help people who want to forget by erasing their bad memories!” 

Another flash. 

Ford gave a tiny gasp. The classroom background had deteriorated. Graffiti of the Blind Eye's symbol covered the walls, and Chu herself looked sweaty and unwashed. “Today I came across a colony of little men, very disturbing,” young Chu said shrilly. “I would like to forget seeing this.” She held the gun up and zapped herself. 

Flash. 

Same graffiti, but now Chu's clothes were torn and stained, her eyes were bloodshot, and she had one arm in a sling with a cast. Ford glanced down at the older Chu's cast. 

“I accidentally hit another car in town today,” said young Chu. “I feel terribibble! T-terrible... I've been forgettin' words lately. I wonder if there are any side effects to...” 

Flash. 

The background had changed to a decaying hotel room. “I saw somethin' in the lake!” young Chu screamed, ripping out her hair. Her glasses fell off. “Somethin' _BIG!_ ” 

Flash. 

Same hotel room. “Mah hair's been a-fallin' out so I got this hat from a scare crow!” Chu said cheerfully. “Hey are mah pants on backwards?” 

Flash. 

The dump. Crazy Chu scampered into view on the camera, laughing maniacally. “Yroo Xrksvi! Girzmtov!” She made a triangle with her fingers around one eye, laughing even more crazily. 

The screen finally went dark, and for a minute they all just started at it in silence. 

Ford's mouth was dry. That triangle...it couldn't mean...

“Oh, Chu, I'm so sorry,” Seandra said gently. 

“Aw, hush.” Chu reached over and picked up the memory tube. She turned to face them, smiling. “You kids helped me get my memories back, just like you said.” 

“But...did you _want_ those memories back?” Dan asked. 

“After all these years, I finally know who I am. Maybe I messed up in the past, but now that I've seen what happened, I can begin to put myself together again.” She hamboned something. 

Ford blinked. “Yeah, stiiiill don't know what that means,” he said. “So wait – you're not the author, but you worked with him. Do you remember who he was?” 

Chu frowned slightly. “It's beginning to come back, but I need more time. And reading glasses. Heck!” She reached over and picked up a pair of thick bronzed-framed glasses from behind the television. The lenses were green, and one of them actually popped out when she picked them up, but she still looked happy. “I got some rememberin' to do!” 

Dan grunted. “Stan – you still want to use the memory gun?” 

Stan groaned. “Dude, I got whacked on the head so many times my lumps have numps. Lumps? Whatever.” 

“Guys, can you help me find my memory tube?” Seandra asked. “I'm pretty sure I might've been mind-wiped before.” 

Everyone started looking – except Ford. He glanced back at Fiddleford, who was sitting in a corner near the door, staring at his knees. He looked pretty lost in that oversized robe. 

That triangle shape Chu had made...and those warnings about Bill in the journal...was it possible the author hadn't just been tricked by Bill, but the demon had also tried to trick Chu, too? Had she been haunted by nightmares? Chu had been a lot like Fiddleford – smart, seemingly successful, willing to help out with scientific projects. 

If Bill had messed with Chu's head...was it possible, somehow, that he'd messed with Fiddleford's, too? 

But Fiddleford had never read the incantation. Ford had never even told him about it. 

But he _had_ let the demon possess him. So if the demon had hurt Fiddleford, he'd done it through Ford. No wonder Fiddleford hadn't wanted to come near him for the past week. No wonder Ford had yet to see Fiddleford look anyone in the eye. 

He hesitated. Then he walked up to Fiddleford, staying a few feet away so he wouldn't scare his friend. 

“Um,” he said.

His friend flinched. “H-hi, Ford,” he muttered, still not looking up. 

“I...wanted to –”

“Alright, nerd 1 and nerd 2!” Stan appeared and slung an arm around Ford's neck, leaning on him heavily. “You done doing your nerd thing because I have a _killer_ headache and if I don't go home I will become _very_ annoying.” 

“Too late,” Seandra said, laughing as she came up to them. “But yeah, let's get outta here. I've gotta write up all my notes – of course I don't know if it counts to expose a secret cult that doesn't exist anymore, but maybe it counts if there's one person left?” 

Fiddleford stood up. “No, no...I don't think I wanna do this anymore.” 

“Aw...” 

“Ford, can I take a look at your journal?” Chu asked, as they started up the stares. Ford passed it over. 

“Anything coming back to you yet?” he said, readjusting Stan's weight over his shoulders. 

She was frowning at the book in deep concentration. “Not yet...but it's all so familiar...almost like I can remember...” 

 

Mabel carried a huge modem over to the counter near the dials. She set it down with a thunk. “Alright, you're getting closer,” she muttered to herself. 

She grabbed her cup of orange juice (had to save the Mabel Juice for when she really needed it) and headed out of the control room into the Portal room. The circle at its center stayed lit all the time now, and it was even starting to suck stuff into it. There was a constant wind as the air and bits of gritty stuff went zooming into the eye. 

She grinned. “Every day it's getting stronger – whoa!” 

The portal sucked the mug right out of her hand and nearly got her fez, but she caught it just in time. 

“Haha – yes! OW!” 

A metal pipe smacked the back of her hand on its way into the portal. She hurried to the First Aid kit back and tied it up with a bandage – no telling what a little blood would do when mixed with magic computer stuff. 

She tight it as tight as she could. “I'm gonna do this, Dipper,” she said, looking up at the Portal. “I'm gonna pull this off and get you back. And no one is going to get in my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAHH I LOVE THIS EPISODE SO MUUUUUCH!


	14. Society of the Blind Eye Short

Stan dangled upside-down on his bed, trying to use his slingshot to fire m&m's at the target he'd painted next to Ford's bed. If Stan accidentally got chocolate on whatever Ford was working on, Stan would face Ultimate Nerd Fury. This added an exciting element of danger to the game. 

An m&m hit the edge of the target and came dangerously close to falling on Ford's bed. 

“Fall! Fall! Fall!” Stan chanted. 

“Ugh, Stan! I'm trying to concentrate!” 

“You're gonna make your brain explode tryin' a crack that code,” Stan warned. He took aim at Ford's hat and shot a blue candy. “BOOM!”

“Stop it! Until we find something better this hat is the only thing –”

_Ding-dong._

They paused. The Mystery Shack was closed for the day. Who could be at the door?

They heard Grauntie Mabel open it. 

“Hello,” said a man's voice. “Would you be Mabel Pines?” 

“I would indeed! And I'd recognize that long nose anywhere – you must be Mr. McGucket!” 

Ford looked at Stan. In an instant they were off the beds, out of the room, and standing at the top of the stairs. 

Mr. McGucket stood in the doorway, and Fiddleford was standing just behind him, his hands clenched tightly together, staring at the floor. 

“Fiddleford?” Ford called tentatively. 

“H-hi, Ford. Hi, Stan.” 

“'Sup, nerd!” 

Mabel wagged her finger at Stan. “That's science nerd to you, Stan!” She turned back to the McGuckets. “Why don't you come on in? I haven't seen Fiddleford in ages, and I'd love an opportunity to try this new brownie recipe on you!” 

“Do _not_ eat it,” Stan said immediately. 

“Oh, pish-posh, it's edible! At least all the ingredients are. Separately.” 

“If you wouldn't mind, Ms. Pines, I'd like to have a word with you,” Mr. McGucket said. “I'd like to finally meet the people with whom my son has spent so much time.”

Stan slid down the banister and grabbed Fiddleford's arm. “Great! You two do boring grown-up stuff while I get Fiddlenerd to build me an automatic boxing machine! Gotta practice my moves on _something_ and some of the trees like to fight back.” 

Mr. McGucket and Mabel went into the living room. Ford hesitated at the top of the stairs, doing his usual overthinking thing about whether or not to say hi to a guy he may or may not have pushed into erasing his own memories. 

_Well too bad – Stan needs his boxing thingie!_

He let go of Fiddleford, raced up the stairs, and grabbed Ford's arm instead. “C'mon, Sixer! We got me a machine to build!” 

“Stan, let go!” 

“Nope!” 

He dragged his brother down the stairs, caught Fiddleford around the neck in a chokehold (the guy was as weak as a little fluffy bunny) and dragged both nerdlings out to the lab. 

 

Ford followed Stan and Fiddleford into the lab. Ford was half-worried that Fiddleford wouldn't remember it, but his friend looked around as if the place was familiar. 

Stan scrambled up on the nearest counter and stood with his hands on his hips. “Welcome, Fiddlenerd, to the mad science lab! MUHAHAHAHA!” 

“It's 'Fiddle _ford_ ,'” he said drily. “And I'm not sure you should be standing on that.” 

“Less talkie, more makey!” 

Fiddleford snorted. 

Ford stepped forward. “Alright, alright, Stan, give him a minute to adjust, okay?” He turned to Fiddleford, who immediately ducked away. “No – sorry, I didn't mean to scare you...” 

“Y-you don't scare me,” Fiddleford said quickly. But he still wasn't looking Ford in the eye. “Uh, Stan, you wanted us to build you a boxing machine?” 

“YEAH!” 

“Okay. What materials do we have to work with?” 

“Um...metal nuggets?” 

“Lug nuts,” Ford corrected. 

“Same thing!” 

Ford sighed. “C'mon, Fiddleford. I moved some supplies around, and I haven't actually gotten into any for a while, but I think we can find enough to keep the Evil Overlord up there satisfied...” 

They spent a half hour tinkering with a machine, building it together. It was just a basic dummy with a spare set of boxing gloves, courtesy of their photo shoot at the Great Grenda's. Ford forgot how much he'd missed talking shop with someone who spoke the language. It made him feel warm and cold by turns – warm, because of how much Ford loved it, and cold, because Fiddleford avoided looking at Ford as much as possible. He even flinched whenever Ford got to close. (Stan, of course, was oblivious, and kept shouting out suggestions for the robot's design.)

Tension aside, the building was actually going quite well. Fiddleford rigged it so that the arms could deliver enough force to ram straight through a wall, and Ford developed a new type of socket to keep the arms from popping right out of the torso when said punch was thrown. Fiddleford also insisted in building in safety precautions, like a timer and a dial so you could adjust how hard and how fast it threw punches. 

“Can we put it on wheels?” Stan asked, from where he was peeking over the door of his car. “Can we give it a remote control? Can we give it a mask and a cape? Oh! Can you make it _fly?!_ WAIT NO STOP EVERYTHING I WANT A JETPACK.” 

Fiddleford burst out laughing. 

Ford grinned. “Evidently Stan's interest in science is piqued by destruction. Can't say our perpetual motion machine is exactly 'death ray' material, huh, Fiddleford?” 

Instantly Fiddleford winced and his smile disappeared. He looked down at the base of the punching machine, frowning. 

Ford swallowed and looked down at his hands. _Great, we were getting along just fine and then I said something, what was it? The destruction? The death ray? The perpetual motion ma–_

_Oh._

The last time they'd ever worked together, Ford had woken up with blood on his face and a note from Bill that said Fiddleford had ditched him. Ford should've known better. His friend would never ditch him. That must've been when Bill took over Ford's body and scared Fiddleford into joining that cult. 

Ford glanced over at Stan, who was trying to see how many nails he could fit into the mug on Ford's desk. 

“Stan.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you give us some privacy for a minute?” 

“NO!” Fiddleford's head jerked up and his eyes slid away. “I-I mean...it's, uh, it's much better to work in a group. I just – feel like...” 

Stan walked over and slung an arm around Ford. “Looks like Fiddlenerd can't...Stand to be without me!” 

Ford groaned. 

“Th-that's not it,” Fiddleford said, frowning. “It's just...I have this bad feeling...I'm sorry, I know I'm not being terribly polite...” 

“Fiddleford, it's okay,” Ford said. He knelt and popped off his cap, showing the foil lining to his friend. “You might not remember now, but for when you do – see the metal? This is what keeps that scary stuff from happening again. It's safe. And if you keep having those bad nightmares, I know it sounds crazy, but this'll help keep them out.” He put his cap back on. “Fiddleford...I made a mistake, and it hurt you. And I'm deeply sorry.” 

For a second, Fiddleford just stayed there, crouched, facing the robot. Then – 

“Fidds.” 

“What?” 

“My...my friends call me Fidds.” 

Relief flooded Ford like some of Mabel's special hot chocolate. _I didn't lose him_ , he thought. _I didn't lose him as a friend_.

“Thanks, Fidds,” he said. “It's...really, really good to have you back.” 

 

Fiddleford hung out in the lab with Ford and Stan for another hour. When the machine was finished, they moved on to cracking some code Ford had found out in the woods. 

“It's the one by the crystals,” Ford said, showing him the work he'd done so far. “We found it weeks ago, but I still haven't been able to crack it.” 

“Yeah, it's been driving his nerd brain _nuts_ ,” Stan added. “You should see the faces he makes sometimes! Actually, hang on, I took pictures –”

“Fiddleford?” 

There was a knock on the door and his father stuck his head in. “Are you about ready to go? We should head home so I can fix dinner.” 

“Okay, Dad.” 

“Wait, Fidds...d'you think you could take a look at this?” Ford asked, holding out his work on the code. Fiddleford was careful to stare at the work and not Ford's face. There was something that really scared him about that. 

He took the papers. “Sure. I can maybe bring them back tomorrow. Or something?” 

“That'd be great.” 

The relief in Ford's voice touched Fiddleford's heart. It seemed like Ford really was sorry for whatever had happened between them. 

He followed his father out to the car and they started the drive home. 

“You doin' alright, son?” his dad asked. 

“I think so.” 

“You're awfully quiet over there.” 

“Just...thinkin', Dad.” 

“Mmm. Well, I'm glad I finally got to meet Mabel. She seems a bit...eccentric...but not quite the town rapscallion I'd been lead to believe. How were Ford and Stan? I didn't get to see much of them.” 

“They were alright. Ford and I mostly just worked on making a boxing machine for Stan.” 

“I didn't know Stan could box. There's a new boxing gym around the block that's supposed to be good. Would you want to go try it sometime?”

Fiddleford snorted. “I'll stick to science, if you don't mind.” 

His father laughed. “Well that place _definitely_ did you some good,” he chortled. “I haven't heard you crack a joke in days.” 

Had it been that long? Fiddleford didn't really remember. It was kind of a hazy blur. 

He turned to look out the window. The copy of Ford's work sat on his lap. It'd been harder than he wanted to admit, trying to figure out how to crack it. Like he was thinking through mud. He couldn't believe he'd been so foolish as to mess with his own brain. But he was still afraid, _so afraid_ , of whatever it was he couldn't remember. Whenever he even thought about it, it felt like there was something in his guts eating him from the inside out. And he didn't even know what it _was_. 

What would happen when he finally remembered? 

He closed his eyes. He wished there was someone he could talk to about this. Someone who knew what he was going through. 

He opened his eyes again. “Dad,” he said, “d'you think you could drop me off somewhere?” 

 

The dump was just as messy on the inside as it looked on the outside. Fiddleford headed into it cautiously, clutching the codes to his chest. He reached something that looked like a shack, soldered clumsily together out of random pieces of sheet metal and cardboard. 

“Hello?” he called. “Cr – Ms. Chu? Are you there?” 

“HIYAH!” 

“GAH!” 

Fiddleford leaped back as she jumped out behind a pile of rusty metal. She actually tap-danced with excitement. 

“Oooh, two visits in two days!” Chu said, and then ham boned, _This is better than a free meal fresh off the asphalt!_

“I was – wondering if you could help me with something,” Fiddleford said. He showed her the copy of the code. “Ford and I are trying to crack this. But, uh, he's run into a little trouble, and because of the whole memory thing...well, I can't say I'm rememberin' how to do this too well, myself.” 

“Well lemme take a look!” Chu grabbed her bronze-framed glasses from her overalls and put them on, peering closely at the paper. Then she squatted down and spread them out right there on the ground. “Looks like some kinda combination of ciphers...” 

_Ciphers._ The word sent a cold chill running down his spine. 

“LET'S,” he said too loudly, and then he cleared his throat. “Let's, uh, let's not use that word. If that's okay.” 

“Did you try an atbash, any variation, and then follow it up with a Caesar?” 

“Uh – I think we did.” 

“Vignere?” 

“I wouldn't even know what word to use.” 

“Have you looked for how frequently a given symbol appears? Assuming this is English –”

“Etaoin shrdlu,” Fiddleford said promptly, naming the twelve most commonly used letters in English. 

“Did you try using _that_ in a vignere ci – code?” 

He blinked. “Well. No.” 

Chu peered at the paper again. “It _might_ work. Let me try...” She started working out the code in the dirt. 

He hopped up onto an old car and sat there, watching her work. Or try to work. She drew out a grid to do the Vignere thing and had to start over a couple of times because she lost track of what she was doing. Was that because of what the memory gun did to her brain?

He started bouncing his knee anxiously – and nearly fell backwards. He caught himself just in time and looked behind him. 

The car he was sitting on was missing its hood, and in place of the engine was what looked like some kind of cobbled-together chemistry set. There were even a few potions slowly turning to black sludge over a frying bunsen burner. Ford leaned away carefully to avoid inhaling noxious fumes. 

“You have a chem lab?” he asked. 

“Eh – sure! I made a few potions to try and change my... _HORRIFYIN' VOOOICE!_ ” 

Ford jumped. A kid riding past the dump on his bicycle actually started crying and pedaled away as fast as he could. 

“You can run,” Chu shouted, “but I'll still be in your nightmares!” 

Nightmares. 

_Dark void peeled skin the color yellow crazy laughter –_

Fiddleford clapped his hands over his ears and shuddered. Last night he hadn't had any bad dreams, but if he heard a word, or saw a color...he knew it could all come crashing back. 

“You alright there, little donkey?” 

Fiddleford looked up and nearly yelped. Chu's face was an inch from his. 

“I'm – fine,” he gasped, shutting his eyes quickly. He still didn't remember why but he did _not_ want to look at people's eyes. 

“If you say so.” 

She started to turn away. He hesitated. 

“Wait. I wanted to ask you somethin' else.” 

She turned back. “Yeap?” 

“I...have you ever...had nightmares?” 

“Alla time!” 

He looked up. “What, really? From the memory wipe thing?” 

She shrugged. “Could be! Sometimes I'll wake up and I cain't 'member how to speak English, or Korean. It'll all come out backwards. And I git dreams that don't make a salt lick o' sense. But ever since yesterday, I've been thinkin'. I mean really thinkin'. Rememberin' things bit by bit.” 

He looked back down at his knees. “Aren't you...scared? I mean...whatever made you want to forget...when it comes back, what do you do?” 

“Somethin' got you pretty scared, too, from the look of it.” 

He nodded miserably. “Stan was right. I am a coward.” A tear leaked down his cheek. “I can't – I can't remember what happened but I'm so, _so_ scared of it coming back, I know it was something awful, I know it's out there waiting for me –” He couldn't talk anymore because his throat was swelling up. He shook with crying. 

“Aw, hush, now.” He felt Chu sit next to him and pat his back gently. “That ain't bein' a coward, Fiddleford. I remember doin' a lot of research to build that memory gun. 'F I remember right, the amygdala is the part of the brain that controls fear. It tells us when somethin's dangerous. Our brains are _wired_ to feel fear, so we can stay safe. It doesn't make you a coward, Fiddleford. It makes you human.” 

He rubbed at his eyes. “But...I let it get so out of hand...” 

“But now you can make better decisions. You're life's not over because of one mistake.” 

He looked up at her then, and accidentally met her eyes. And there was something in them that shocked the crying away. Her eyes, up close, were actually really pretty. And very, very sad. 

“You're life's not over, either,” he said. “I mean – you're still really smart. You had those ideas about the code just now. You built a _house_ out of _garbage_.” 

“'S not the same as a home. But I'm working on it.” She smiled again. “If your lookin' for advice, Fiddleford, I've got two things to tell ya: One, trust in your friends. Let them be there for you, and make sure you're there for them. And two: never ever try to brush a raccoon's teeth. No matter how bad their breath smells. It will not end well for anyone.” 

“Um...noted.” He wiped his eyes and readjusted his glasses. “Can I, um. Come and visit? I can bring snacks. I don't want to impose on your hospitality.” 

“Shoot, I'd love that!” She laughed and slapped him on the back. “Anytime you feel like comin' by. 'S long as you don't see nothin' on fire, it's usually safe to come in! Now let's get that code cracked like a giant freshly-hatching pterodactyl egg!” 

“That's oddly specific but okay!”


	15. Blendin's Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this one is mostly canon BUT there are two bits in the gladiator fights that aren't and you may want to read them for later episodes to make sense. (Or you can read the whole thing because I worked on it for hours FEEL MY PAIN PEOPLE FEEL IT okay I'm done.)

The hooded figure ran through the dingy streets, massive skyscrapers rising all around him like sticks of broken charcoal, smudged against the sky. It was dark, the only light coming from neon digital posters of Time Baby's face, with the caption _Time Baby is Watching_. But the darkness wasn't enough to cover his escape. 

He took a hard right down the next street as a siren started wailing. The digital posters flashed to alert the public of an escaped convict. 

He ran faster. 

“Halt!” 

Two men in Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron uniforms skidded around the corner and gave chase, a FloatOrb lighting their path with pale green light. If they caught him, he'd never get out of the Infinetentiary, not for a million trillion ye– 

“OW!” 

The figure had run smack into a wall, and his own momentum spun him into a group of trash cans. He went down with a loud clatter, twisting his knee. 

“Oh my time-knee!” the figure cried. “Oh, time-dangit!” His hood slipped back, revealing a pudgy-faced man with slim gray goggles. 

The uniforms stood over him. 

“Definitely the dumbest,” said Dundgren, holding an immobilization ray trained on his face.

“FREEZE!” Lolph said, as several other men in uniforms surrounded him. Two helicopters joined them, rotors churning overhead. “You're surrounded by the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron. Anything you say can and already has been used against you in future court.”

Dundgren put away the ray and took out a pair of time handcuffs, linked together with a purple beam of energy. “This is it, Blendin,” he growled. “ _End of the timeline._ Any last words?” 

Blendin paled. There had to be a way out of this – something, anything, even if it was totally crazy or even dangerous or – 

_That's it!_

“I-I-I – _I INVOKE GLOBNAR!_ ” 

The T.P.A.E.S. guys gasped, and the gathering crowd of civilians murmured to each other in astonishment. Even Dundgren powered down the handcuffs, looking shocked. 

“Very well,” he said. He pulled out a time-tablet. “Speak the name and century of those accused.” 

“The two kids that ruined my life – Stanford and Stanley Pines,” Blendin said clearly. “21st century.” 

The time-tablet recorded the information and the screen flashed to life, showing a live feed of the two future/past/present victims of Globnar. They were currently whacking each other with pillows, laughing when small puffs of glitter came out along with the feathers. The feed was immediately transferred to the digital posters, and in seconds the entire city was lit up with the pillow fight. A caption written in red labeled them “Globnar Tributes.” 

“So be it,” Lolph said darkly. “And may Time Baby have mercy on their souls.” 

 

Ford popped a quarter into the vending machine and punched the code for Yumber Jacks (“The Snack With an Ax to Grind! *No actual ax included.”)

He and Stan watched with anticipation as the curly wire slowly rotated, and the snack came closer and closer to falling.

“Can-dy! Can-dy! Can-dy!” they chanted. 

The wire stopped turning and the candy started to fall – and then got stuck on the end of the wire. 

Ford gasped. “No! It's trapped!” 

Stan flopped to the floor, face-down. “Everything is terrible forever.” 

“Hey, chiquitos,” Ria said, coming up to them. “Want to know a trick?” 

They stood back and she stepped to the side of the machine. She tapped above and under the button pad, then bumped the side of it with her elbow. Instantly the glass cover swung open. 

“Tada! A genius taught me that once,” he said, reaching in. She pulled out of the machine with her arms loaded with candy. “This just in, the weather station is calling for a – _candy blizzard!_ ” 

The candy rained into Ford's hands (and onto Stan's head.) 

“WOOHOO!” Stan shouted, springing to his feet. “Forget taking off the wrapper, I'm eating these _now!_ ” He started jamming them into his face. 

Ford grinned. “Ria, you are the greatest human ever to live.” 

Behind him, Stan coughed and sputtered. “ _That was a mistake!_ ”

Ria smiled, taking some cash out of her wallet for her own snack. “Hey, don't sweat it, chiquito,” she said. “I'd do anything for the Pines family!” 

“Riaaa!” Mabel called. “I need you to see if the mole on my back is getting any bigger!”

“And I mean anything,” Ria said. “Coming, Ms. Pines!” 

Ford tucked the candy away in his vest for later. Then he noticed Ria had left her wallet sitting on a nearby counter. 

“Whoa, better make sure she gets her wallet back.” He walked over. 

Stan beat him to it. “Oooh, nice! Free cash!” 

“It's not _free_ , and we have to give it back.” Ford snatched it away. 

“Aw c'moooon! Just a quick peek? Don't you wanna learn some Ria Secrets? Noodge noodge?” He nudged Ford with an elbow. 

“Well...a _quick_ peek.” 

“Yes!”

He opened it. “Whoa!” He pulled out a small membership card for Big Gunz Laser Tag. It had her picture and a ranking of five stars – “Master Tagger.” “Ria has a membership to Laser Tag? I didn't even know they let adults in there!” 

“She _is_ the supreme wizard at video games,” Stan said, swiping the wallet. He started rooting through the other pockets. “Emergency salami, small dried gummi chair – ew... Hey, check it out – it's her driver's license! And she looks _good_ in it!” 

“Something's definitely supernatural there.” 

“'Maria Esperanza Ramirez,'” Stan read. “Organ donor, DOBBIE –”

“That's 'Date of Birth' –”

“'July 13th – wait a minute, that's today!” 

Ford frowned slightly. “Huh. Why didn't she say anything?” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Uh, duh! She's probably waiting for someone to throw her a surprise party! I can relate. I've been waiting for a surprise party my whole life!”

“SURPRISE!” Fiddleford said, jumping out from behind the counter and throwing wood shavings in the air. 

Stan turned around slowly. “No.” 

“Aw...” 

“Wait, Fidds, can you help us plan a party for Ria?” Ford asked. 

“Yeah!” 

 

Half an hour later, Ford had rounded up Dan, and Stan had come back from town with the “surprise entertainment”. Dan had showed up and made them a portable stage, and was currently helping Fiddleford paint banners with the words “Birthday” in multicolored paint. (Dan was so tall they didn't need a ladder, so Fidds was just standing on Stan's shoulders.” 

“Okay, we got the food!” Stan said, as he and Fiddleford carried big platters out of the Shack. “We also checked to make sure it was edible!” 

“Pretty sure most of this is an affront against food,” Fidds added, “but edible – yes. Technically.” 

Fiddleford hopped down from Dan's shoulders, and Dan went off to get Ria. “Wow, you guys really thought of everything, huh?” Fiddleford said. 

Stan grinned. “Fiddlesticks, twins are _born_ birthday experts.”

“It's true,” Ford said, nodding. “We've shared every birthday together, so we know how to make them great!” 

He and Stan high-sixed with both hands, then stood back to back with both left feet touching and blew party kazoos in perfect sync. 

“Oh hey, Ford, before I forget,” Fidds said, holding out a piece of paper. “Me and Crazy Chu –”

A sound caught Ford's ear. 

“Tell me later!” Ford said, taking the paper and stuffing it into his pocket. “Places everyone! I hear footsteps!” 

They hid behind the picnic table. 

Dan appeared, leading a blindfolded Ria around the corner of the house. 

“Alright,” Ria was saying, “you promised a giant hummingbird, so I'm expecting to see a giant hummingbird. It's my spirit animal.”

Dan led her to the middle of the birthday area and whipped off the blindfold. 

“TAADAAAA!” they all shouted, jumping out from behind the table. “Happy birthday!” 

Ria definitely looked surprised. “Wh – huh? What?” 

“Happy Birthday, Queen of the Video Game Machines!” Stan said, running up to her. “We got everything you love – cake-flavored pizza, pizza-flavored cake, and one more treat...” 

Ford pulled the cord on the makeshift stage and the curtains parted. Toby Determined, in a full red sparkly leotard, immediately started tap-dancing and waving a flashy cane. 

“Razzle-Dazzle, friends! It's me, the Razz Dazzler! This is my first gig on the way to Broadway!” 

“Keep thinkin' that, Toby,” Stan said. 

Ria looked stunned at the horrific sight of Toby in a full-body leotard. “I-I, uh, I...” 

Stan snapped his fingers. “Oh wait, we need a picture! Everybody gather round!” 

They all crammed in together so Stan could fit them in the shot. (Luckily Dan was big enough to block the horrifying image of Toby in a leotard, still dancing behind them.) The camera flashed and the photo slid out the front of it. Stan held it up for them to see. 

Ford gasped slightly. Everybody in the picture looked pretty happy – except Ria herself, who looked almost _miserable_. 

“Ria, what's wrong?” Ford asked. 

“It's, uh, it's nothing,” she said, but she was very obviously _not_ smiling. “I, uh – I have to fix a pipe or something.” She tugged her hat down over her eyes and hurried around to the front of the Shack and out of sight. 

Ford, Stan, and Fiddleford stared at each other. _What the heck was_ that _about?_

Seandra and Mabel came around the same corner, both of them looking back over their shoulders. 

“Whoa, have you guys seen Ria?” Seandra said. “What happened to – oh no. Oh no, no, no!” 

“What? What happened?” Ford asked. 

Seandra grimaced at the decorations. “Okay, you guys didn't know, so it's not your fault, but Ria _hates_ her birthday. It came up when I was talking to her a couple of weeks ago. No idea why – some weird personal biz, maybe.” 

“It's been like this since she was a kid,” Mabel added. “I even tried to get the day removed from calendars. Now I'm not allowed on airplanes! Or anywhere near the _Porky the Teacup Pig_ franchise.” 

“There's gotta be _something_ we can do,” Stan said. “I mean, birthdays are like, the best days ever! People give you cake and presents! For _free!_ ”

“I don't know, guys,” Seandra said, glancing back. “I don't think she's in the mood to be cheered up.” 

They all went to the corner of the Shack and peered around it. Ria was sitting on the porch, staring at something in her hands, and looking more miserable than ever. 

“Maybe we should just leave her alone, y'know?” Seandra said quietly. 

Ford set his jaw. “No one should be alone on their birthday. There's gotta be a way to cheer him up. We just need to try harder.”

“You're right, Sixer!” Stan said. He stood back and grinned. “It's time for us to bring out – THE BIG GUNS!” 

 

Which was how Stan persuaded them to pile into Ria's car, blindfold her, and lead her straight to Mr. Zzz's Big Guns Laser Tag. 

It was all Stan could do to keep from spoiling it. The outside was nothing special, but the lobby looked seriously cool – purple walls and colored neon tubes led everywhere, and the huge doorway on the far wall showed massive room completely covered in black carpet – floor, walls, ceiling – plus futuristic-looking obstacles and cheap glowing lights that glittered like multicolored stars. He actually had to bite his tongue to keep from squealing (in both senses of the word.) 

“Alright, everyone,” Ria said, as they led her inside. “Blindfold me once, shame on you. Blindfold me twice...wait a minute.” She sniffed. “Hot dog smell? Sticky floors? Future sounds?” She let go of Ford's hand and took off her blindfold. 

“TADA!” Mabel shouted. 

“ _Laser tag?!_ ” Ria gasped. “I-I love laser tag! How'd you guys know?” 

Stanley laughed loudly. “Well, we definitely didn't rifle through your wallet, if that's what you're implying! HA HA HA.” 

A small TV monitor lit up on the wall as they passed. 

“ _Welcome to the year 8000,_ ” said the narrator, showing a futuristic city with huge black sky scrapers and a smoky green sky. “ _Society collapsed. Fog machines everywhere._ ” 

Seandra was inspecting one of the walls. “Are these just mattresses spray-painted purple?” 

“I think this place used to be a mattress store,” Mabel said. 

Stan, Ford, Dan, and Fidds hurried to get on their gear. (Mabel and Seandra decided to sit this one out.) Stan found some that was Ria's size and thrust it at her. 

“Here! C'mon, I wanna kick laser butt!” 

She took it, but hesitated. “I don't know guys...I'm not sure I'm up for this today.” 

Ford smiled. “Don't worry, Ria. As soon as you start playing with us, you're gonna have a great time.” 

“Yeah! We can form teams!” Stan said. “Dan, Fidds, you guys form a team – Dan's big enough to be two people anyway – against me, Ford, and Ria. No matter what happens,” he told Ria, “we won't leave your side! Except if I use your body as a shield or something.” 

She gave a weak chuckle. “Well...I guess I can give it a shot.” 

“Oh, _nice pun!_ C'mon!” He turned and raced for the door. Dan and Fidds had gotten a head start, and Stan didn't want to miss nailing them when they least expected it! 

He and Ford ran through the doorway. It seemed to flicker and open into a huge white room with futuristic hologram bad guys already in it. 

“Wow, this place is even cooler than I imagined!” Stan exclaimed. “Look how real these laser guys are!” He went up to one and kicked it. 

A certain part of the laser guy's uniform flashed green. “ _Kick deflected!_ ” it said. “ _Thank you for buying digicod, the smart codpiece!_ ”

“...Huh?” 

He heard Ford gasp and he turned around. The wall they'd come through had glowing laser bars over it, but beyond it they could see the Laser Tag Lobby – and Ria tying her shoe on the floor. That's why she hadn't come through with them!

“Ria!” Ford called. 

“Ria wait!” Stan shouted, but the wall snapped shut, sealing them in. He ran to the wall and started head-butting it. 

“Nice try,” said one laser guy. “But that's solid timetanium, kid. There's only one way out of here.” 

“ _Through me!_ ” 

Stan turned. A huge swollen head was floating on one side of the room. 

“Oh wait,” said the head, and two hands appeared. They messed with a watch or something on one of the hands, and a suit appeared under the head, flickering with scenery before settling on a mint green the color of a hospital waiting room. “THROUGH ME!” the head repeated. “And that's what it would've been like if I'd just said it the first time but it's still as effective.” 

“Nope!” Stan said. “Also who are you?” 

“Wait, he's that time guy, right?” Ford said. “What was his name again...Blendo, Blondin...” 

Stan snapped his fingers. “Blar blar.” 

“There it is!” 

The guy turned purple. “It's BLENDIN! Benjamin Blenjamin Blendin! How could you not know my name after ruining my life?!” 

Stan glanced at Ford. The heck was this guy talking about?

“INITIATE FLASHBACK!” Blendin yelled. He tapped something on his watch and one of the side walls lit up. It showed Blendin in handcuffs, being given some kind of trial by an enormous baby with a head even bigger than Blendin's. Stan kind of lost interest after that. He was too busy wondering how much poop that baby could make, and what kinds of pranks he could pull with it that weren't technically illegal. Also how big were those diapers anyway? He could use one as a sail on the Stan O' War!

“Look, we're sorry about all that,” Ford said, jolting Stan out of his thoughts. “But we're in the middle of something important.” 

“It's our friend's birthday and there's gonna be cake and stealable presents!” Stan added. Ford nudged him. “What? I thought it was implied that we wouldn't leave her side, I don't need to say it!” 

“ _What?_ ” Blendin glared at them. “You think some dumb _birthday_ matters right now!? Do you know where you are? Welcome...” He gestured at the far wall. “...to _GLOBNAR!_ ” 

The wall opened. Laser bars kept them from going out, but beyond the wall was a vast arena Stan really didn't want to venture into anyway. 

It was huge – the whole town of Gravity Falls could fit inside it with room to spare. There were several dozen fights going on at once, all over the arena. And it wasn't just humans fighting, either. There were human-shaped things with purple skin or eye stalks or multiple appendages, and mutated monsters with clocks for eyes or numbers for hands and feet. There was even a freaky pink blob like one of Mabel's pudding recipes gone even more horribly wrong than usual. The crowd roared whenever one of the fighters took down his opponent. The sheer volume of the sound hit Stan's eardrums like a physical force. 

“Is this a reality show?” Stan asked hopefully. “Are in Japan?” 

“It's GLADITORIAL TIME COMBAT!” Blendin shouted. He pointed to two guys fighting close by. One of them weilded a glowing mace and knocked his opponent to the ground. A stone pedestal rose under the winner's feet, and a glowing orb appeared in his hand. “The winner gets a precious Time Wish! And then – decides the loser's fate!” 

The loser of the fight looked up in terror. “No, please...!” 

The winner smiled. And then he gave a thumbs-down. 

The loser disappeared in a column of bright purple light. Stan's stomach went cold. 

“And the two of you are officially challenged!” Blendin finished, with satisfaction. He turned away. “Dundgren! Get me my war paint.” 

Stan glanced at Ford, who was standing next to him with an equally horrified look on his face. 

“Sixer, use that big brain of yours – we need a way out of here!” 

“Okay, okay.” Ford looked around, and then his gaze caught on one of the time guys. Lolph, according to his name tag. “I got a plan.” 

“Hang in there, Ria, we're coming for you.” 

 

Ria wandered through the glowing obstacles of the Laser Tag room. “Ford? Stan? Requesting backup.” 

Something zapped her from behind. Dan leaped out, laughing. “Haha! MANLY DAN WINS AGAIN!!!” 

She grimaced. “Chiquitos...?”

 

Ford told him what to do, and Stan put on his best I'm-So-Innocent-And-Childlike-You-Must-Adore-Me face. Then he went up to Lolph. 

“Well dang, son, I can't believe it's really you! My little, uh...Lolphy!” he said. Lolph stared at him. “It's _me!_ Your great...great...great...great...great...” He glanced down. Ford was motioning him to keep going and when to stop. “...great...great...GRAMPA! From the past times!” 

For a second Lolph just kept staring. Then his eyes lit up. “...Paw Paw?” 

Ford carefully slid the time tape out of Lolph's belt, just how Stan showed him. The guy didn't even notice. 

But Blendin apparently did. “HEY! You can't let them escape – STOP THEM!” He tried to body-slam Ford, but Ford slipped past him and grabbed Stan's arm just as Blendin and Dundgren came crashing down. 

“Let's go!” he shouted.

“Paw Paw, how could you?!” Lolph cried. 

“I ain't no one's Paw Paw, suckah! You just got time tricked! Hurry!” he told Ford. “Back to Ria's birthday!” 

Ford pulled the tape measure out. “I think I've got it!” 

Stan grabbed him and they linked arms as the room flashed around them. 

Normal color came back a split-second later and Stan realized he and Ford were floating in mid-air. And then they fell and landed on a mattress. It was some kind of store that sold mattresses and pillows and other bed stuff. 

“When are we?” Stan asked, looking around. “I thought we were going back to Laser Tag.” 

“Oh, no, I think we must've gone too far in the past!” Ford said. 

Stan growled. “Time travel. Man! Why you gotta be so complicated?” 

Suddenly there was a burst of light overhead. Without thinking, he and Ford dove under the bed just Blendin and the two time guys landed with a small bounce on a different bed. They looked angry. (Or constipated.)

“Looks like they overshot their destination by ten years,” Lolph said. 

“I don't see them,” Blendin said, rubbing neon green war paint off his face. “You better find those kids!” 

“You'll get your justice, Blendin,” Lolph said. 

“I'm gonna keep stammering until you find them!” Blendin threatened. And then he jumped off the bed and walked off, stammering the whole time. 

Both time cops looked disgusted. “Man, I hate that guy,” Lolph muttered. 

Dundgren nodded. “Let's move.” 

They bounced from bed to bed and did a somersault in midair until they reached the door. Then they fist-bumped and headed out. 

Ford crawled out from the bed first and helped Stan up. “Okay, we just gotta go forward ten years. We can be back before Ria even realizes we were gone.” 

Stan spotted the tape on the floor. “Oh no!” he said, picking it up. It shot sparks at him. “Oh, great, it's busted! Can you fix it?” 

Ford looked at it. “Maybe. Fiddleford's better at this stuff than me...I'll need some tools, though. And I think I know where to get some.” He looked out the window. 

Stan followed his gaze. Across the street was a sign that said “Mystery Shack – 1 mile.” 

They headed out. 

Stan kept looking around. Everybody he saw was literally ten years younger. The Sheriff walked by wearing a mullet. He saw the bouncer from Skull Fracture getting his first tattoo, and they even walked past Tanya Determined, who was now a teenager and was trying to show her mother something in a magazine. 

“Look, he got it, he got it!” she was shouting. 

“I get it, I get it,” the mom said, looking a little annoyed. 

Ford tugged Stan's sleeve when he started to wander. “Be careful, and stay close. We don't want to change the future. Or cause the future. I forget how this works, exactly.” 

“Wow, 10 years in the past...hey, a Bud Gleeful poster!” 

It was a poster saying a baby psychic had just arrived. (“Check his vomit for clues to your future!”) Stan paused and grabbed a red pen from his pocket, then drew mustaches and devil horns on both Gleefuls. 

They paused outside a dance studio. No one was in it but Thompson Gables and Toby Determined, who was now 6 instead of 16 (but unfortunately just as ugly). Thompson was trying to teach Toby how to tap dance. 

“And if you practice a lot, someday you'll become a big star on Broadway!” Thompson said. “That's definitely what the future holds for me!” 

Stan tapped on the glass. “You're doomed to run a newspaper in a one-room office, Thompson!” he yelled. 

Thompson sighed. “I know.” 

They kept walking and two toddlers rolled up to them on tricycles. 

Ford jumped back. “Whoa!”

“Sorry,” said little-kid Janice. Seandra leaned in and whispered something to her. Janice smiled. “My friend thinks your cute.” 

“Omigosh, _Janice!_ ” said little-kid Seandra. 

Ford blushed. “Well, thanks! But you're super-young, so this is weird.” 

Stan grinned. “Now you know how _she_ feels, creep.” 

Ford laughed awkwardly as the toddlers tricycled past. And then Stan heard him stop and say “Wow” a few times. 

He grinned wider and slung an arm around his brother. “C'mon, nerd, before your brain blows a circuit or something. Plenty of other weird crushes await us in the future!” 

 

It only took them about twenty minutes to reach the Mystery Shack. As Ford had thought, Mabel was still the owner. She was outside, leading a group of tourists around for another tour. And she looked almost the same as she did ten years later. 

“Wow, she really stays in shape,” he whispered. 

“Schlep right up to the Mystery Shack, folks!” she called, sweeping her arms in a grand gesture. 

They waited until she led them to the golf carts for a drive-along. 

“Alright, the coast is clear,” Ford said. 

“Now's our chance!” 

They grabbed hands and ran into the Gift Shop, jumping through the open window. 

Ford rolled to his feet and stood up. The cooler was standing in the middle of the room, unplugged, with a panel removed to show its internal wiring – and an open toolbox right beside it. 

“Ha – bingo! Alright, let's see...” 

He sat down and started to work. It seemed straightforward until he got started. Some of the material didn't even look like it was from Earth. But the design of it sort of reminded Ford of that blueprint Fidds had worked out for a hypothetical Flux Capacitor. Ford recalled the design perfectly and used it to help him fix the time tape. Wait until he got back to the present and told Fidds his design could be modified to actually work! 

He closed the yellow lid and screwed it in place. “Okay, we're –”

“Sixer, _look!_ ” 

Stan grabbed Ford's head and turned it. He gasped. Standing in the doorway of the Gift Shop, wearing a bright red T-shirt and a party hat, was _12-year-old Ria!_

An old (but still younger than usual) Soos emerged from behind a rack of oversized T-shirts. “All ready to go, princess?” he asked her. 

“Yep! Do I have to act surprised?” Ria asked, taking his hand. 

“I dunno, dude. But it's a surprise party, so probably!” 

Ria smiled. “But you told me about it, Abuelito. It's not really a _surprise_ birthday party.” 

Ford and Stan watched them leave. 

“''Birthday party'?” Stan repeated. “Sixer, this could be the day when that personal biz went down! We could finally find out why Ria hates her birthday!”

Ford glanced down at the time tape. “Alright, but let's make it quick.” 

The Ramirez house looked pretty much the same, except there was no fort in the back yard. Instead there were three big picnic tables with a giant plastic table cloth laden with birthday cake, punch, plates, and assorted silverware. There were a lot of people already there, including a couple that looked like they might be related to Ria. Ford and Stan hid behind the picket fence to watch. 

“Who's a beautiful birthday girl?” one of the older guests cooed, lightly pinching Ria's cheek. “It's _you!_ ” 

Ria giggled and pushed the hand away. “Thanks, Tia Lettie.” 

Soos came up, laughing. “You look like you're having fun!” 

“Definitely!” 

“Wanna help me stack your presents so they're shaped like a fort?” 

“ _Do_ I!” 

Ford frowned, watching them. “I don't get it, this party looks like a blast. Why would Ria hate her birthday?” 

The cake was brought out, shaped like a pink T-Rex with little plastic dinosaurs on top. Ria took one when no one was looking and started licking the frosting off the tail. 

Another kid – Ford recognized her as young Sophia – came up and sat down to Ria's right. 

“Uh, could you move, please?” Ria asked. “That's the seat of honor!” 

“Who's it for?” 

“Oh, heh...it's for my dad, actually!” Ria smiled. “I haven't seen him in eight years, but he's coming today!”

_Ding-dong._

Ria leapt to her feet. “That must be him!” 

She ran to the door. Ford and Stan scrambled over the fence and hurried to the side window of the living room so they could watch. They crouched under the sill so they wouldn't be spotted. 

Ria paused in front of the door. She took a deep breath. “Alright, Ria, today's the big day. Be cool. _Be. Cool._ ” 

Ria opened the door, a huge smile on her face – and then the smile fell. It was just the mail man. 

“Post card, for...Ria!” said the mail man, handing it to her. 

Sophia came up behind her. “What's it say?” 

“'Sorry, kid,'” Ria read aloud. “'Couldn't make it this year. Real busy again. See you next year for sure. Dad.'” The more she read, the more she slouched over. When she was done even her shoulders were sagging. 

Sophia put her hand on Ria's back. “Aw, don't worry about it, Ria. You'll see him next year!” 

“Yes...next year.” She went over to the TV table set against the wall and reached underneath, pulling out a shoebox. Ford counted at least eight other post cards inside it. Ria put in the newest one and closed the lid. 

Soos had come into the room at some point. He watched his granddaughter anxiously. “Ria? You want to use the dinosaurs to stage a battle on the present-fort?” 

“Maybe later,” she said quietly, standing up. “Go ahead and party without me. I'm going to lie down.” She walked out of the room. 

Ford and Stan slid down and sat on the grass. Ford's chest felt heavy.

“So that's why Ria hates her birthday,” he said. “It's the day she realized her dad wasn't coming back.” 

Stan was quiet for a minute. Ford could only guess the thoughts going through his head. “So...how much partying can fix that?” he asked at last. 

Something squirted Ford right in the face. He sputtered, soaking wet. 

“Haha! Bullseye!” said a young Dan, standing in front of them with a squirt gun in his hand. (Amazingly, he still had a light fuzzing of facial hair.) “Wait 'till I tell my uncles!” 

When Dan ran off, they hid underneath a different window, behind some bushes, so they'd be less conspicuous while they figured out what to do. And then they heard voices and realized they'd hidden directly under Ria's bedroom window. They peeked in. 

“Ria? I made you some snickerdoodle cookies,” Soos said, sitting down on her bed. “I know these are your favorites. Also I kind of burned the dinosaur ones.” 

Ria looked down in her knees, her chin resting on her hand. She'd taken off the party hat and stuck it in the trash. “Thank you, Abuelito, but I'm not really in the mood for cookies. I want to see Dad again.” 

“I know you do, princess.” Soos put an arm around her. “And I know you're hurting right now. But I promise, you will feel better one day.” He kissed her forehead and set the cookies on her computer desk, then left the room. 

Stan crouched down, digging his fingers into his hair. “Ugh. This is _awful_.” 

Ford nodded unhappily. “We promised her a happy birthday, but how're we supposed to give her that now? This goes beyond anything we know how to fix.” 

“THIS WAY!” 

Ford gasped. It was Blendin! 

He and Stan grabbed each other and rushed to the nearest tree. They hid behind it, watching, as Blendin and the time cops came around the corner of the house. 

“They've gotta be around here somewhere,” Blendin said. “I-I think I heard them!”

Lolph blew up a tree right next to Stan and Ford's hiding place. Bark flew everywhere and Dan was left standing there, stunned holding a water gun. 

“Wow,” he said finally. “Okay, my uncles were right, forget sharpshooting. I wanna be a lumberjack!” And he ran off, ditching the squirt gun. 

“Huh,” said Stan. 

Lolph and Dundgren took out machines from their toolbelts. 

“Trace their chrono signatures,” Lolph said, and moved away to begin sweeping the backyard. 

Blendin sat down on the nearest picnic bench. “Man, the sooner I defeat those kids in Globnar, the sooner I get my time wish.” 

“Tell you what I'd do if I had a time wish,” Dundgren said. “Retire early. Spend more time with the kids.” 

“NYA NYA NYA WITH THE KIDS! Don't you know a time wish can literally do anything!? Any impossible problem solved, just like that!? I mean imagine the possibilities!” 

Ford grabbed Stan's arm. “Stan, that's it! The time wish!” 

Stan nodded frantically. “If we defeat Blendin in that space battle –”

“Then we can wish that Ria's dad comes to her 12th birthday!” 

“Ria's birthday would be fixed forever!” 

“ _All_ of them!” Ford paused. “But do you think we can win at Globnar?” 

Stan considered. “I have been practicing with that boxing machine you guys made...” 

“We made that _one day_ ago.” 

“Plus you're a lot less stringy than you were at the beginning of the summer.” 

“Hey!” 

Stan grinned and punched him lightly in the arm. “See? There's just a hint of muscle under there! Besides, it's for Ria.” He turned, and Ford followed his gaze. Ria was still sitting on her bed, the plate of cookies untouched on the desk. “I can't believe I'm saying this...but I actually _want_ to help her,” Stan said. “She'd do the same for us.” 

Ford nodded. 

They stood up and walked out from behind the tree. 

“Here we are, Blendin,” Ford said, loud and clear. “We surrender.” 

“It's them!” Blendin shrieked. 

Dundgren whipped out some kind of future ray. “FREEZE!” 

“Careful, they're from the past!” Lolph said, rushing over. “They might have powder muskets or slap bracelets!” 

“Look guys, no tricks this time,” Ford said, taking the lead as they kept walking up. “We're ready to challenge you, okay?” 

“YES!” Blendin shouted. “Let the Globnar begin! Prepare...for...GLOBNAAAAAAA-”

His voice abruptly cut off. A “mute” icon appeared over his mouth. 

“Hey turns out I can mute him,” Lolph said, one hand on a device on his arm. 

Dundgren grinned. “Man, I wish we'd known that earlier.” 

“Same,” said Stan. 

“Initializing!” Lolph pressed another button on the device. Ford felt something fall out of his pocket, but before he could check it, the world disappeared in a bright flash of light. 

 

They reappeared at the arena. Ford looked around. All of the other Globnar fights had been cleared out, and it looked even bigger than it had the first time. The crowd was chanting “Globnar!” over and over, waving fists decked out in glowing bracelets. Their faces were on a huge screen on one side of the arena. Stan grinned and waved at himself. 

The five of them were facing the head of the arena, where there was a huge metal stage. Suddenly the floor of the stage disappeared, and a massive baby floated up. Like _really_ massive. Its head was the size of the Shack! 

“Oh, man,” Ford said. 

“Yup, that's one big baby,” Stan agreed. 

It was sitting on some kind of childcare seat, with huge colored rings and blocks hanging off the front. That might've made it kind of cute, in a grotesque sort of way. But there was a glowing symbol of an hour glass on its forehead, and when it spoke, its voice was as deep as thunder. 

“SILENCE,” he boomed. 

“Oh yeeeah!” called one member of the audience. 

The huge baby zapped him with a beam from his eyes. Ford took a step back. 

“Welcome, Globnar tributes,” said the baby. “I have a very important nap to get to, so let's make this quick. You each have the chance to settle your time-feud through gladitorial combat.” The baby gestured, and they turned. A huge holographic array of weapons appeared in the arena behind him. Ford guessed that either they were a kind of solid hologram, or that they could select a weapon and it would be presented to them to use. 

A small robot held up a bottle in the shape of an hourglass, with glittering cosmic milk in the lower half. 

“You will have until Time Baby finishes the cosmic sand in this hourglass,” the robot said. It then began trying to get Time Baby to drink it. Time Baby tried to whap it away. “Come on, it's good for you!” 

“Get ready, kids!” said Blendin. “When I get that time wish, you'll wish you were never born! Or – rather, you'll wish you were born, because I'm gonna wish you were never born!” 

“Dream on,” said Ford. “There's two of us –”

“And we have hair!” said Stan. 

They high-sixed. 

Blendin sneered. “Oh yeah? Well I – have – _training!_ ” He grabbed a spear from the nearest display and spun it so fast it blurred in the air. “What do you think I did in training all that time?” 

Stan stared. “Uh-oh.” 

The huge screen changed to a scoreboard, with Stan and Ford on one side, Blendin on the other. Right now both sides had 0 points.

Time Baby raised his arms. “Let the Globnar...BEGIN!” 

 

The first fight was done on a spinning clock face, and each of them were armed with rods tipped with electrified conductors shaped like marshmallows. Ford went body-to-body against Blendin, and when Blendin pushed him down Stan leaped up from behind, yelling like Tarzan – but Blendin whipped around and smacked him to the ground next to Ford. Point to Blendin. 

The next one was like that game based on the movie based on the game based on the movie based on the game. They were given motorcycles that left streams of solid light in their wake and told to race without crashing. On this one Ford pulled ahead, with Stan riding shotgun and hitting Blendin with m&ms from his pocket to make him drive off-course. Point to Stan and Ford. 

After that came a chess match – which would've been perfect for Ford, except that there was also a massive monster attacking them while they played, too big for Stan to hold off. The monster sent all three of them running for cover. No points awarded. 

And so it went. Fight after fight, game after game, until Ford and Stan had 763 points and Blendin had 764 points. 

They were given a short reprieve. Ford and Stan slumped against the side of the arena, breathing hard. Ford was sweating more than usual, which was really saying something. 

“We're...almost winning,” Stan gasped. “Right? A tie is...almost winning...right?” 

“Ugh, I wish I had something I could use to give us an edge...” Ford searched in his pockets. Maybe he had the technological equivalent of m&ms, something that would help them in their next battle...

Instead he pulled out the paper Fiddleford had handed him earlier that day. Maybe he could fold it into a paper airplane or something? He opened it, checking to see if it was anything important. Once glance and he gasped. 

“What? What is it?” Stan asked. 

“Stan...he did it.” 

“What?” 

“ _Fiddleford cracked the code._ ” 

“ _What?!_ ” 

Ford held it up so they could both see it. “'He'll haunt your dreams and feed your fears/whisper new deals in your ear./Don't shake his hand, but if you do,/There is one way he can't reach you./He'll still come visit in your sleep,/But a metal cap will stop the Beast.'” 

“Beast? Wait, wait – is this actually a way to stop _Bill Cipher?_ ” 

“I-I think so.” Ford looked down at it, hope and fear and desperation warring in his brain. 

“But – you already _have_ a metal cap. It's not keeping Bill from possessing you.” 

“No, no, I have a cap _lined_ with metal. I think...I think this means I have to put a metal cap, like... _in my head._ ”

“What!?”

A huge buzzer went off. Ford got up, thinking hard. There was no way he could actually get a metal plate installed in his brain. Any hospital would refuse to do it unnecessarily, and if he tried to convince them he needed it, they'd lock him up in the loony bin. But, there _was_ a way...if they defeated Globnar – 

Stan grabbed his arm. “Whoa, hey, where're you going?” 

“I'm going to stop Blendin.” Ford folded the paper and put it back in his pocket, looking grim. “I'm going to use that time wish to stop Bill from ever hurting me again.” 

“But –”

“TRIBUTES!” Time Baby thundered. Officers came out and led Ford, Stan, and Blendin back to the head of the arena. Time Baby chewed one foot, looking down at them over his toes. “There is only one final challenge for Globnar. An ancient game thousands of years old, chosen for its exemplification of pure strategy!” 

Ford readied himself. He would do whatever it took to get that Time Wish. 

“The ancient art... _of Laser Tag!_ ” 

Huge holographic obstacles appeared around them, and Laser Tag vests appeared on their chests, along with three holographic laser guns. Behind them, at the opposite end of the arena, the Time Wish glowed from the top of a huge holographic pedestal. 

Time Baby gestured to it. “The one who touches the victory orb first will win!” 

“Wait. Seriously?” Stan asked. 

Blendin grinned viciously. “Oh, I know it doesn't seem that challenging now, but just wait until they turn on that fog machine. You'll be done for! You just wait until you –”

“ _Hit!_ ” 

Blendin looked down. Ford had zapped Blendin's vest. He continued zapping. 

“ _Hit! Hit! Hit!_ ” 

“Aw, man,” Blendin groaned. 

“Stanley! Get the orb!” Ford shouted. 

Stan was already at the top of the pedestal. He ditched his gun and leaped three feet straight up, grabbing the orb in his hand. “GOT IT!” 

There was a flash of light, and Time Baby finished drinking his cosmic sand bottle. 

“IT...IS...FINISHED!” 

On the scoreboard, Ford and Stan's points jumped up to 999. 

“NOOOOO!” Blendin screeched. 

Stan raced down the disappearing pedestal and met Ford in front of Time Baby. 

“Give me the orb,” Ford said, holding it out. 

“Wait, wait, I have an idea,” Stan whispered. 

Blendin was still screeching. His two time cop colleagues showed up and one of them threatened to hit the mute button, and Blendin's noises desisted into inaudible mumbling. 

“You have made victory in Globnar,” Time Baby said, floating down to them. “Before I grant you your time wish, tell us: what fate do you decide for the loser?” 

“DEATH!” Stan screamed. 

Ford whacked him lightly on the back of the head. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Stan said. “I got carried away.” 

The two of them huddled up. “So Blendin did try to wish us out of existence, but it was kind of our fault that Blendin got thrown in time jail.”

“Yeah, that was fun. Plus he's kind of too sad to be a real villain. I mean seriously, even Thompson would make a better bad guy.” 

“Alright. Let's go easy on him. If we treat him right in the present, maybe he won't try to kill us in the future.” They turned around. “Okay. As long as you'll keep an eye on him, we'd like to set Blendin free,” Ford announced. “Restore his position in the Time Anomaly Avoidance –”

“Yeah and give him hair!” Stan cut in. 

“SO BE IT!” 

Time Baby's hand glowed, and the cuffs popped of Blendin's wrists. His name tag reappeared on his suit, and small, oddly stylish locks of hair sprouted neatly out of the top of Blendin's head. 

“What, really? You did that for me?” Blendin asked. He started grinning. “I got my job back! I feel like hugging somebody!” He turned to Lolph. 

“I can kill you in eight different ways.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Time Baby rubbed his cheeks until the hour glass on his head glowed yellow. “Now, children...what is it you want for your time wish?” 

Stan glanced at Ford and nodded. Then he stepped forward. “You mean...time _wishes_.” 

Time Baby looked at him. “No. Time _Wish_.”

“What?!” Stan faked outrage. “Excuse me, why should the two of us get only one wish? Everyone on Blendin's team would've gotten a wish!” 

“Blendin was a one-person team! His whole team would've gotten only one wish!” 

“BOOO!” Stan called. 

The hourglass on his head began to glow red. “Watch your next words, tribute,” Time Baby growled. 

But Stan didn't even look worried. “Maybe _this_ will change your mind,” he said, and pulled something from his pocket. 

It was a key. Specifically, it was a key that had a leopard spot pattern on one side, and a Tiger Fist pattern on the other. It hung on the end of a chain made of multicolored paper clips. Stan jangled it, and the key tinkled and flashed in the light. 

Time Baby's eyes grew huge. “Is that a dangly key?” 

“Sure is! Too bad – I'd sure love to trade it for a Time Wish right about now...” 

“DONE!” Time Baby snapped his fingers and an orb appeared in Stan's hand. He gave Ford a thumbs up. 

Ford looked down at his own orb and concentrated on his wish. In another flash of light, the orb dissolved, and he was afraid that he'd broken it or that Time Baby had simply taken the wish away. And then there was an incredible pressure on his head and he fell to his knees with a gasp. 

“Ford! Oh my gosh, _Ford!_ ” 

“I'm okay,” Ford said. He took Stan's hand and let his brother pull him back to his feet. He touched his hair gingerly. He could feel the slim metal shell under his scalp. He'd made his wish so that it would grow as he did – no need for any future surgeries, which might be awkward to explain. “It...my head feels heavier than normal, but I'm okay. I'm okay.” 

“Geez. Don't friggin' scare me like that.” 

“We're ready to go home,” Ford told the time police. 

Lolph nodded. “Blendin, since you're newly reinstated, please take these two back to their correct year. And you can take your time coming back.” 

“Guys? Stan? Ford?” 

Ria looked around. She hadn't seen anyone at all for a few minutes. She sighed. 

“Oh, who am I kidding. I'm not up for this.” She glanced up at the exit sign and took a coin out of her pocket. “Heads I stay, tails I go make myself some snickerdoodles, and maybe a few burnt dinosaur cookies.” She flicked it in the air. 

All at once the music slowed and then faded away. The strobe lights stopped mid-strobe. All sounds of lasers and laughter stopped. Even the coin hung in the air. 

She looked around, startled. She touched the coin. It spun a little, but stayed floating. 

“Huh. That's...unconventional.” Was it a magic coin?

A bright light behind her made her turn. She shielded her eyes, and a minute later Ford, Stan, and the mascot from that tire place stepped out of the light. 

“Ria!” they cried. 

“Guys!” She took a closer look. “What happened? You look like you got into a burping contest with a fire-breathing dragon or something!” 

They hurried over. “We're so sorry we left you hanging,” Ford said. “We got caught up in this time travel gladiator fight.”

“And there was a time cyclops,” Stan put in. “Also a giant game of Yahtzee and that motorcycle game but in real life and also the –”

“ _Time pickles!_ ” both twins said, laughing. 

Stan turned back to her. “But the point is, Ria – we think we know how to fix your birthday.” 

“Really? Whoa...” She ran a hand through her hair. “So wait...you two did _all_ of that...for me?” 

“And that's not all!” said the tire guy. He touched something on his watch and a glowing orb appeared in the air, filled with sparkling auburn light, with an hourglass symbol suspended in the middle. “Behold, your Time Wish! The power to alter time paradox-free in any way you choose.” 

“We think the only thing that can make you happy is meeting your dad,” Ford said. 

“But the choice is yours,” Stan said. “We won that in the fight, by the way. We like, _hardcore_ won. You're welcome.” 

Ria looked at the twins, then back at the floating orb. “You mean, I can finally see my dad, just by touching this thing? And you guys battled through time and space to get it for me?” 

They nodded, smiling. 

Ria didn't even know what to say. Nobody had ever done anything like that for her. And these kids – she'd barely known them for a month, and they risked their lives for her. 

She reached into her pocket and took out the postcard from ten years ago. It was faded and folded so much that it was almost coming apart where the folds were. She looked at it, then back up at the twins. 

“Go on, Ria,” Stan urged. “What're you waiting for?” 

Ria took a deep breath. “Alright. Here goes nothing!” 

She reached out, slapped a hand on the orb, and made her wish. 

There was a bright flash of light. Then came a smaller set of lights, little white sparkly things that fluttered around Stan and Ford, fixing up all their injuries, getting their clothes clean and mended on the spot. 

“There! Fixed you guys up!” 

Ford blinked. “Wait, what?” 

“What about your dad?” Stan asked. 

“Well...birthdays are supposed to be spent with people who care about you. But you know what? That guy didn't care about me enough to visit me _once_ , let alone fight monsters through time and space like you two. I mean, you had a gladiator fight just to make me happy!” She glanced down at the postcard. “I've been being ridiculous this whole time,” she said, and she tossed it into the nearest trash can. “Wherever my dad was, he can take a hike. But not with us. I know who my family is. And it's you two.” 

Ford blushed and Stanley grinned. She gathered them into her arms for a group hug. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “ _Now_ is a good time for a group hug. Thanks for giving me the best birthday ever.” 

“Happy birthday, Ria,” they said, hugging her extra-hard. 

“Are you kidding me!?” Tire Mascot yelled. “Do you have any idea what you just wasted?! Do you know how many people have died to get a Time Wish!? Th-the wars that were started?!” 

“Oh, that wasn't all,” Ria said, standing up. “I also wished for this slice if infinite cake.” She held it up and took a bite out of the frosting part. It instantly reappeared. “It has no calories, so I can eat as much as I want. And it regenerates for like, infinity.” 

“Oooh, that's a good time wish,” Ford said. The others nodded and voiced their agreement. 

Ria smiled and put it away. (Part of its magic was that it wouldn't get frosting or cake crumbs on anything.) “There's still 10 minutes before Laser Tag closes,” she said. “You two want to play?” 

“YES WE DO THERE CAN NEVER BE ENOUGH LASERS!” Stan shouted. The three of them ran off, laughing. 

_Wow_ , thought Ria. _This really is the best birthday ever._

 

Ten Years Ago

Ria came out of the house, looking around. “That's odd,” she said to herself, looking around the backyard. “I thought I heard an explosion.” 

It looked like there really had been an explosion, too. There was a deep, rectangular hole cut into the grass. It looked almost big enough to build a fort in it and use it as a moat. And in the middle of the explosion was what looked like a red screwdriver. 

She went over and picked it up. The words _Mystery Shack_ were written in black Sharpie on the side. 

“Hmm,” she said. _Better return this._

She'd been there earlier that day, so she went back on her own and waited until the owner came out of the Gift Shop. 

“I can't believe this,” the woman muttered, looking worried. “I can't do all that _and_ lead tours _and_ fix the Shack at the same time!” Then she looked up and caught sight of Ria. “Oh! Hey, kid, you know how to fix a cooler?” 

“Well – my abuelito's a handyman, and he's constantly breaking and repairing our fridge, so –”

“Perfect! You're hired!” 

The woman tossed a shirt at Ria. It was the same one she'd been admiring earlier that day – an olive-green top with a huge question mark on it. 

“I'm Mabel Pines, by the way. What's your name kid?” 

Ria smiled up at the woman. She seemed a little over-caffeinated, but nice. And she had a bit of glitter on the collar of her jacket. 

“Ria,” she said. “Ria Ramirez.” 

“Nice to meet you, Ria! Now get to work!”


	16. Blendin's Game Short

“EEEEY, NOT A BAD SETUP HERE, MACKEREL!” 

“Oh great. It's _you._ ” Stan glared up at the triangle. “If you're tryin' ta get me to take off Ford's helmet again, forget it. I ain't doin' it.” 

“RELAX, SHORT STACK, I JUST CAME TO SAY HELLO!” 

“Right.” 

Bill reclined comfortably at the top of the crow's nest, but Stan wasn't fooled. This was a dream. He'd seen Bill take the Stan O' War, the lake, the cliffs, the whole world and twisted into something evil. 

He imagined himself ten feet taller, but somehow the crow's nest was still too high to reach. Stan imagined up an ax. 

“HEY, TAKE A CHILL PILL! TELL YOU WHAT –” Bill flew down to him, inches from Stan's nose. “LET'S HAVE US SOME COMPANY, SHALL WE?” 

He snapped his fingers, and Ford appeared on the deck in a poof of blue flame. He looked around, saw Stan's shoe, and leaped back with a yelp. 

“Stanley? What's happen – is that _Bill?!_ ” 

Stan didn't so much as look at him. “Not gonna believe that one, either,” Stan said. “I know my real brother when I see 'im.”

“THAT _IS_ YOUR REAL BROTHER, MAD 'AX. SURE, I CAN'T PLAY WITH PUPPETS ANYMORE, BUT THAT METAL CAP DOESN'T STOP ME FROM ENTERING HIS DREAMS. OR FROM LINKING HIS DREAMS TO YOURS. WATCH THIS!” 

For a second nothing happened, and then a noise reached his ears. He turned to see that siren girl sitting on a rock, all pearl-soft and pretty, singing that eerie song of hers. 

Stan blinked hard to make her disappear, but she didn't. Actually, the music didn't seem to be affecting him at all. 

Then he heard a splash. 

The fake Ford had gone all moon-eyed and was swimming towards the siren. 

Stan glance at Bill. “Seriously?”

As soon as Ford got close enough, the siren smiled – and then plunged into the water, dragging the fake Ford down. After a minute bubbles started coming to the surface. 

Stan stared at Bill and didn't move. 

Bill checked an overlarge pocket watch. “BEEN DOWN THERE A LONG TIME,” he said. “HEY! I WONDER IF I COULD KILL HIM IN A DREAM!”

Stan still didn't budge. “I told you before, I know my brother when I see 'im. Now get lost before I serve you up with salsa and a bowl of sour cream.” 

Bill sighed dramatically. “FINE.” 

He snapped his fingers and the bubbles in the water stopped coming. Despite himself, Stan suppressed a shudder. When he looked up, Bill was nowhere to be seen. 

“That was it?” he asked aloud, surprised. He waited a minute longer, then shrank back down to his regular height. 

_Well, that was...way too easy. What the heck is he up to?_

Stan debated telling Ford about it when he woke up, but there wasn't much to tell. In fact, to explain how weirdly nice Bill was, Stan might have to talk about all the nightmares he'd been having for a while...and he didn't really want to go into that. It was a rare night now that he'd gotten control of his dreams, and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. Tomorrow Bill would probably drag him back to a nightmare version of his father's house, but for now the lake was calm, the air was sweet, and he could catch as much fish (or find as much underwater treasure) as he wanted. 

He grabbed a pole and threw a line. Normally he whipped up a pretend Ford, too, but Bill had sort of ruined that for him. 

Yet even as he thought of it, a new Ford popped into being next to Stan. He jumped back with a yell. 

“Geez! Who ordered _you_ here?!” 

“Um, you did?” Ford rolled his eyes. “I mean c'mon, who else is gonna want to spend time on this creaky boat?” 

“Yeah, no, bye.” Stan blinked hard – that usually worked whenever he wanted to change something – but when he opened his eyes, Ford was still there. In fact, he was digging around in their bait bin like he owned it (which in real life he did). 

“Do you mind?” Stan snapped. 

“You think I could catch a cryptid with this?” Ford asked, holding up a shrunken troll's head. 

Stan smirked. He'd actually hidden a troll's head in their earlier to freak out Ford. He definitely liked this dream version better. 

“What the heck, go ahead.” 

“Duh.” Ford tied it to a fishing line and cast it far into the lake. The two of them settled next to each other on the railing. “You know what we need now?” 

“Yeah – snacks!” 

Stan blinked a big bowl of toffee peanuts into existence and started chowing down. 

Ford held up a toffee-coated nugget that had at least three peanuts stuck together. “Hey, neat, a blobby one!” 

“'Fs no' a delly bean, For',” Stan said, spewing bits.

Ford shrugged and pocketed it. “Still want to keep it. Might not be the real thing, but in a lot of ways it's better. Like me and the real Ford.” 

Stan looked at him sharply. “I told you to get out of here or I'd serve you up with salsa.” 

“Don't forget the sour cream.” Ford turned, and this time his eyes flashed yellow. The pupils had turned to slits. “Face it, Stan,” the demon said in Ford's voice. “I may have needed you back in Jersey. And I may have needed you to to protect me from Bill. But I don't need you anymore, do I? Glasses and I are gonna publish big papers and get filthy rich – _without you_. Heck, I'd be able to afford my very own apartment right here in the Falls!” 

“If that were true, then we'd live here together,” Stan growled. “That's how brothers work!” 

Bill rolled Ford's eyes. “Right. Except that you know Ma and Pa won't just blithely accept both boys escaping them. They'll reach out with their nubby little fingers, and guess which twin they'll snag? Face it, you wouldn't let them get Ford, but Ford won't lift a finger to help you. He'll just be relieved there's no more twin around to suffocate him.” 

Stan's brass-covered knuckles crunched Ford's nose and he crumpled to the deck, still gripping his fishing pole. There was a sudden sucking noise. 

Stan looked. Bill/Ford's fishing hook and pulled a black plug out of the lake bottom, and water was funneling into it with growing force. 

“Whoops!” Ford said gleefully. 

“That's it!” Stan grew to ten – fifteen – twenty feet tall. He stepped out of the boat and grabbed it out of the water. The lake swirled around his ankles. He tried to overturn the boat and dump the demon out, but Bill just sat there upside down, grinning manically through his bloody nose. 

“DON'T WORRY, STAN, I HAVE _BIG_ PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. IF YOU HELP ME, I MIGHT EVEN GIVE YOU A BETTER FORD TO PLAY WITH – AFTER THE REAL ONE LEAVES YOU BEHIND!” 

“GET _OUT!_ ” Stan hurled the whole boat straight down the funnel. 

The lake was draining rapidly – but it wasn't the only thing to do so. The lake bed, the waterfall, the granite cliffs, even the sky started drawing towards the drain. Stan felt it pulling his body into it – he could even actually see little wisps of himself getting sucked in, like he was turning to smoke. He yelled and pinwheeled his arms, trying to step away, but he slipped and hit the ground hard. His feet went numb as they were sucked in and then his knees and then his gut and – 

 

He woke with a start. At some point in the night he rolled over and hit the floor, the same way he'd fallen in the dream. 

“Stan?” Ford sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he froze and looked down at himself. The threads criss-crossed around his bed were exactly the way they'd tied them the night before. 

Stan grinned. “Morning, Sixer. How'djya sleep?” 

“I'm...fine.” Ford leaned down and touched the strings as if to make sure they were real. “I did it. I really did it! He didn't possess me at all! It _WORKED!_ ” 

Ford leaped off the bed and tackled Stan. For a minute they rolled on the floor, laughing and wrestling, with Ford chanting “It worked, it worked, it worked!” 

“Alright, alright, I get it already!” Stan said, finally pushing Ford off. “Geez, grew some muscle, huh?” 

Ford's face shone with excitement. “I gotta go tell Fiddleford, this is amazing!”

“Wait what about playing video games with Ria today?” 

“Maybe later bye!” Ford grabbed his jacket and dashed out the door. 

Stan got to his feet with a groan, rubbing his side. He thought he could feel Bill's eyes on him. He could almost hear his laughter. 

“Geez, Stan, you're losin' it,” he muttered to himself. Ford had every right to be excited. Why didn't Stan just invite himself along to see the Fiddler? Pestering nerds sure sounded like a good way to spend the day. And Ford never seemed to mind when he was there. 'Never seemed to mind'? Heck, his brother _loved_ to spend time with him! He was crazy to ever think otherwise. 

He cracked his back and headed down the stairs, whistling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed my writer's soul!


	17. The Love God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS SERIES EVEN INCLUDED A HIATUS JUST LIKE THE REAL GRAVITY FALLS haha whoops

Stanley lay on his back in the cemetery, right next to Ford, staring up at the clouds. “Hey, check out that one – it looks like a goat!” 

An airplane flew out of the goat's mouth. 

“Barfing an airplane,” Reggie said, and they laughed. 

“Uh, that cloud looks like...a chainsaw?” D'Andre tried. 

“Not bad, not bad,” Seandra said. “Hey Janice, you do one.” 

Stan wasn't looking, but he could practically feel Janice's scowl. “No.” 

They laughed. The six of them had been laying on a grassy hill deep into the cemetery. There was a very small half-rotted chapel behind them, and a couple of the gravestones nearby were topped with gargoyles. It was a vaguely creepy place, which of course made it the perfect hangout. 

“Hey, that cloud looks like a heart-shaped balloon,” Stan said, pointing. 

Ford sat up. “Clouds don't come in colors. That is a balloon!” 

Seandra sat up, too. “Oh man! It's the Woodstick Festival!” 

“The what?” 

“It's this annual outdoor concert featuring Oregon's up-and-coming indie bands!” She pulled out her phone and held it up, flipping through the pictures so they could see. Stan and Ford leaned in. “They're _all_ coming – Scarves Indoors, Woodgrain on Everything, Love God – you've probably seen him in that viral video.” She clicked a link and a video popped up. 

Love God was a middle-aged guy shaped like a potato, with a stained striped shirt and a bunch of weird glass bottles tied to a belt around his waist. The video showed him hopping awkwardly on a stage. 

“Who's ready to fall in love tonight?” Love God shouted, and then immediately tripped and face-planted onto the video's camera. “Oh ow, ow! I hope no one's filming this...” 

Stanley laughed. 

Ford looked up. “Whoa, so this is like a real concert concert? I – we've never actually been to one.”

She grinned. “That's 'cuz you've never had an awesome crew like us to roll with before.” She nodded at Reggie and D'Andrew, who were debating how many zombies you'd need to make it an actual zombie apocalypse. “If you're with us,” Seandra said, “you're in.” 

Stan opened his mouth, but before he could say anything they heard a low, hollow-sounding moan. 

“ _OooOooOoo..._ ”

Stan looked around. “Duuuude. Is this cemetery _haunted?_ ” 

“If it's haunted, I'm out,” D'Andre said. “I don't wanna get disappeared again.” 

“Or stabbed by cereal,” Reggie added. 

“ _OooOooOoo..._ ”

“It's coming from over there,” Ford said, pointing to an open grave. “I think we should check it out.” 

“I'll do it!” Stanley said, springing to his feet. Now was the perfect time to show off how brave he was! 

The rest of the gang got up and followed him. He led them through a few rows of stone markers until they came to an open grave. The creepy moaning was coming from whatever was at the bottom. 

Slowly, Stan approached it. The others waited, holding their breath. 

Stan looked in and saw – 

“AAAAAH!” he screamed. 

“ _AAAAAAAAAAAH!_ ” everyone else screamed (even Ford). 

Stanley laughed. “Chill out, you guys. It's just Aaron.” 

He pointed, and they all gathered around. Aaron was lying at the bottom of the grave, his varsity jacket all covered in dirt, his hair a mess. He was holding a picture of Seandra and moaning. 

“ _OooOooOoo..._ Why did she _leeeave meee...?_ ” 

Janice looked disgusted. “It's even creepier than I expected.” 

Seandra bent closer. “Aaron?” 

He looked up and jumped. “Seandra! Oh, just – don't mind me, just, uh, doing research! For an article! You know, getting down and dirty for it, just, a regular – regular day for me...” He folded his arms and tried to look cool. 

Reggie bent down, too, resting his hands on his knees. “Whoa, dude, we haven't seen you in like, a million years. Where've you been?” 

“You're not still mourning our break up, are you?” Seandra asked. 

“What?! No! No, no, I've just been, uh – busy with news and stuff!” Then he noticed he'd dropped the picture of Seandra and quickly scooped it up, stuffing it into his jacket. 

Seandra was not fooled. “Aaron, we split up forever ago. I mean, it's really sweet you'd throw yourself into an open grave for me, but man. Time to move on.” 

“Wait wait not yet,” Stan said, and he whipped out a camera and snapped a picture. Nothin' like a little abject humiliation to spice up his memory book!

“If you show that to anyone I will kill you,” Aaron growled. “And anyway I've totally moved on!” 

Immediately his cell phone began ringing.

“ _Seandra, I'll never move on, never everrrrrr!_ ” 

Aaron scrambled for it and threw it, hard. “That was a different Seandra! Unrelated!” 

“Gross,” Janice grunted. “The cemetery used to be fun. Now it's just depressing.” 

“Let's go,” D'Andre said, and they turned to leave. 

“Excuse me, did anyone lose a phone?” 

They turned. A curly-haired guy in a sweater vest came up over the next hill, holding a shovel in one hand and a cell phone in the other. He smiled cheerfully. “I take it this belongs to someone named Seandra?” 

“Someone _obsessed_ with Seandra,” Reggie corrected, pointing to the open grave. 

Aaron's head popped up. “I am _not_ obsessed!” 

Sweater Geek grinned and walked up to them, tossing the phone to Aaron. “It's so nice to have visitors in the cemetery! Usually this place is as quiet as – well, a cemetery!” He laughed at his own bad joke. 

“Dude, you need to throw some puns in there,” Stan said. “And maybe throw _out_ that sweater vest.” 

“Well, please feel free to come back any time! The usual company around here isn't usually very chatty.” He laughed again and glanced at Janice, smiling. 

If anything she looked even more repulsed than she'd been at Aaron. “I am so out of here,” she said, and stomped away. The rest of them followed. Sweater Geek called out a goodbye and waved after them, still chuckling. 

“Hey Sixer, you sure that wasn't some kinda nerd ghost?” Stan asked, as the two of them trailed after the group. “'Cuz that guy was a little _too_ cheerful.” 

“At least Janice didn't bite his head off like she normally would,” Ford said distractedly. “But we've got bigger things to worry about. Like how to fit in with Seandra's gang at the Woodstick Festival!” 

“Yeah, yeah, Seandra, I get it.” Stan glanced back over his shoulder. Aaron was now lying half in, half out of the grave, while Sweater Geek poked at him with a shovel to make sure he wasn't a corpse. Stanley laughed under his breath and snapped another picture. 

“Oh, man, I am sorry you guys had to see that,” Seandra said. She was leaning back on the register counter at the Mystery Shack. Ford and Stan were hanging out with her (and avoiding Mabel, who'd been looking to give them more chores. Something about a hot air balloon.) 

“Are you kidding?” Stan asked. “That was hilarious!” 

“I'm actually a little surprised he hasn't gotten a new girlfriend by now,” Ford said. “I mean, he always acted like – well, like he could get any girl he wanted.” 

“Yeah...confidence was always a big deal with him,” Seandra said. “But towards the end it started to feel like – like a front, you know? Like he wasn't really all that confident, he just acted like it. I think his ego's a lot more fragile than he let on.”

“Huh-that's-too-bad-anyway-tell-me-more-about-the-Woodstick-Festival!” 

“Y'know, I bet we could get Mabel to match him up with somebody,” Stan said thoughtfully. “Somebody, like, really unexpected. You think she could make him fall in love with a rabbit?” 

Seandra rolled her eyes. “Love's not a game, Stan.” 

“Really 'cuz Ria and Yarn Boy think it is.” Stan pointed. 

Ria had her laptop open and was Skybing with Yarn Boy. She was using balls of yarn as knights, and he was using doggie chew toys as wizards. They were currently having an epic battle complete with sound effects. 

“Sure, okay, but what about the Festival?” Ford asked. “Is the whole gang coming? Is there gonna be food?” 

“Yeah, but we may have to sneak some in,” Seandra said. “The snacks are like, way overpriced. Even worse than that fair Mabel had at the beginning of the summer. I'm talkin' like, twenty-dollar pretzels and sodas that cost an arm, leg, and firstborn child.” 

Stan grinned. “Overpriced refreshments? I'm SO in! I can sell my own snacks and become exorbitantly rich!” 

 

Mabel looked up when a shadow passed overhead. It was a hot air balloon, this one shaped like a giant smiley face. She squealed and jumped up and down. 

“Man, I can't _wait_ for the Woodstick Festival! It's been ages since I last went!” 

Ria smiled from her spot on the lawn, where she was helping Mabel construct her own balloon. “Didn't you stop going because they banned you for jumping on stage and giving several people seizures with homemade pyrotechnic lights?” 

“Not important! I can't believe it took me so long to think of it, but this is the perfect way to get over those pesky Festival guards' heads – literally!” She stepped back. She'd just finished sewing together all the colorful tarps she had into a hot air balloon in the shape of a star. “There! And we can add streamers at the end that'll float in the breeze! This way I'll be able to watch all of the attractions, live and in person – and I'll practically be an attraction, myself!” 

“It is a good plan,” Ria agreed. “But have you ever actually flown a hot air balloon?” 

“ALSO NOT IMPORTANT!”

“Hey Grauntie Mabel!” 

Stan ran up to her, waving his camera. “Can you go make some passably edible snacks while I develop these photos? I'm gonna sell 'em at the Woodstick Festival! The food, not the photos.” He paused. “Maybe I should sell the photos, too! Although this _is_ some pretty good blackmail material...” 

“Blackmail?” Ria frowned. “Isn't that kind of...illegal?” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Not when there's no cops around. Besides, it's just pictures of Aaron all broken-hearted and sappy.”

Mabel's face fell. “Oh, no. Is this because of what happened between him and Seandra?” 

“Yep! You know what? Forget the food, these pics'll sell like gold!” 

“Wait a second!” She grabbed Stan's shoulder. “It's sort of my fault that they broke up, and I am duty-bound to fix it. Also I have been dying for a chance to matchmake ever since Seandra forbid me from making more snadgers! And _you're_ gonna help me mend Aaron's broken, stomped-on heart!” 

“What? Forget it!” 

“But I need your help to talk to him! It'd be totally weird if a stylishly awesome lady like me talked to an angsty teenage boy. You're the perfect go-between!” 

“No way,” Stan said flatly. “The guy was gonna beat up my brother.” 

“But he chose not to in the end, right? C'mooon!”

“No.”

“I'll give you toffee peanuts!” 

“I already know where you keep your stash.”

“I'll give you a hundred bucks. _Plus_ a decal for your car.” 

“Done and I'm paid by the hour.” 

“Perfect!” She pointed at Ria. “Ria, you're in charge of finishing the hot air balloon until I get back!” 

Ria blinked. “But I've never built a –”

“Great! Stanley, come with me! We got some match makin' to do!” 

 

The Anker house was disappointingly free of anchors, although it did have a lot of ivy climbing up the sides. It sat right next to the Gravity Falls News Studio, and it had an impressive billboard on the front lawn with a picture of Alexander Anker's face. 

Stan climbed off Mabel's bike and immediately ran to the billboard to draw a mustache (because, come on, how could he not?)

Mabel hopped off too and hung her helmet on the handlebar. “Okay, here's the plan. I'll go in and distract his dad with this jar of origami cranes I found in a dumpster. You climb up the wall and into his room and persuade him to meet us at Greasy's Diner at 4:30!” 

“Why do I have to climb the wall? I'm charging extra for that!” 

“Please, like you were actually going to use the stairs.” 

“Touche.” 

He went to the wall and started climbing. He did not have any intention to matchmake some loser, no matter how much his Grauntie bribed him. But he still figured he could get some decent blackmail material – and get a sweet decal for his car at the same time!

He was halfway up when he heard angsty emo music thumping through the wall. He reached the closest window and popped his head up over the sill. 

Aaron's room was about half the size of Stan's own bedroom at the Shack. There was a bed, a closet, and two desks, both cluttered with cameras, hair gel, microphones, teeth whitening strips, recorders, and more hair gel. The walls were plastered with several different photos of Aaron himself, taken at various angles, as well as newspaper clippings with Aaron's name in them, circled in red. And starred. And highlighted.

It was more or less was what Stan had expected, except for three things: One, the emo music. Two, the vaguely creepy collage of Seandra photos taped to the back of the door. And three, Aaron himself, lying on the floor, in the middle of a minefield of empty pizza boxes and half-eaten chocolate truffles. 

“Uuugh,” Aaron moaned. “Why didn't I let that vulture just eat me...”

Stanley grinned. “Wooow, you are _miserable!_ ” 

Aaron jerked up with a shout, then caught sight of him. “Oh. It's just you.” He flopped down – and then jerked back up. “Wait, what are you doing in my house?!” 

“I'm not even technically _in_ your house. But the vines are gonna fall off any second here so WHOA!” They started to give and he grabbed the windowsill just in time, scrambling inside. 

“Hey, hey!” Aaron barked, sitting up all the way. “Get out already!” 

“You gonna share that pizza or what?” Stan leaned down to grab a slice. 

“Hey!” Aaron stood up and made to grab for Stan.

He ducked away. “Hands off the merchandise, buddy!” 

“What're you even doing here?! And where's your stupid brother? He ruined my life!” 

Stan grinned. “I know, right?” 

“Listen, kid,” Aaron growled, “I got enough problems in my life without dealing with _you_. So unless you actually want me to hit you this time, I suggest you find the nearest black hole and jump in.” 

“Been there, done that. Look, I'm only here 'cuz Mabel paid me to be, alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“She thinks she can set you up with someone else to date.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Like anyone would _want_ to date a walking hair gel commercial.” 

“Hey! I'm plenty dateable!” 

“Really? Exactly how many girls have thrown themselves at your feet since they learned you were single?”

“There were girls! There were _lots_ of girls! And anyway I don't see a pile of girls at _your_ feet either!” He jabbed Stan's shoulder, hard. “You think I'm gonna be intimidated by some twelve-year-old kid with a missing tooth? I could date circles around an idiot like you!”

_Idiot!?_

Stan turned red. “Look who's talking, moron!”

Mabel burst into the room. “HELLOOOOO! Hey Aaron, guess what? You dad said I could set you up on a blind date! I know you might not want to move on yet, but –”

“DONE!” He glared at Stan. “I don't care if it takes a creepy old lady. I can get and keep a date way before some stupid snot-nosed kid. You wanna pick a fight, Stan? Bring it on!”

 

Seandra, D'Andre, Janice, and Ford had gathered at Reggie's garage. They'd gotten Toby Determined to come over (which basically meant they'd looked behind the nearest bush where he'd been watching them all day) and were now taping snacks to Toby's arms, legs, back, stomach, and even his head. 

“This is _awesome_ ,” D'Andre laughed, as Reggie taped a bag of pretzel sticks to Toby's shoulder. “Plenty of food and we don't have to spend a cent!”

“I'm just happy to be included,” Toby whined, before D'Andre taped another snack to his ear. 

Seandra grinned. “It really is awesome. And it was all Ford's idea!”

“Thanks.” Ford blushed slightly and held up a few more bags of chips. “Just a few more left and then we'll be all set to go!”

“Janice, don't you want to do a couple?” Seandra asked. “You could tape them onto Toby's butt!”

“Yeah, Janice!” D'Andre waved wildly at her even though she was just a few feet away, leaning against a shelf of canned meat. “C'mon, join the party! We could totally use your help!”

But Janice just scowled at her phone. “I'm _busy_ ,” she snapped. 

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Still a grouch, even with the Woodstick Festival upon us.”

“Now guys, be real,” Ford said. “Betcha if she smiled you wouldn't even recognize her!”

They laughed. 

Janice stood up abruptly. “I'm outta here.”

Seandra looked startled. “Wait, Janice, we really were just kidding. We can totally stop.”

“Not that, I got a text.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the sidewalk. “Meet you at the Woodstick Festival, alright?”

Seandra nodded. “Yeah. We should probably get going, too. I still gotta get ready for the Woodstick Festival. I'm talkin' headband, beaded necklaces, and leg warmers. We're bringing the 60s back hard-core!”

D'Andre gave her a thumbs-up. “Same! I gotta go get my puffiest jacket and some pants to go over Toby's contraband cuisine. Let's split and meet back here in an hour!”

“YEAH!” Ford and Reggie cheered. 

Ford waited until Seandra was out of sight, then practically ran down the sidewalk. He was already cataloguing what he needed for his outfit. Patterned shorts, random T-shirt, a long vest with fringes, and maybe a rainbow headband to match Seandra. She was gonna _love_ it!

 

Greasy's was a little less crowded than usual, probably because the regular lunch crowd had been thinned by the Woodstick Festival. This made it incredibly easy for Mabel and Stan to see Aaron sitting by himself two booths down, nervously adjusting his jacket. 

Mabel grabbed Stan's arm and shook it. “Love is about to happen, Stan!” she whispered excitedly. “Watch and learn!”

“More like 'watch and burn,'” he muttered, holding up a camera. “Bring on the sweet stench of crushed ego!”

“Stan, can't you just be happy for him?”

“The guy literally called me stupid right in front of you. Does that matter to you at all?!”

“Of _course_ it does! But we both know you're a real catch, all that hair gel has just soaked into Aaron's brain. Plus heartbreak makes you three times as jerky as usual. But once he meets the soon-to-be love of his life –”

The door to the diner opened and the bell jingled.

“Janice?!” Aaron and Stan said together. 

Janice's scowl deepened. “Aaron? Tell me _you_ didn't send this text.” She held up her phone. “'You, me, date'. I'm not even going to read the rest out loud.”

Aaron's face was slowly turning red. “No. No way. That little – I bet that Wannabe Ford sent it 'cuz he's trying to ruin my date!”

“Did not!” Stan shouted, before Mabel clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Look, do you wanna do this or not?” Janice snapped. 

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Janice, let's be real. If I wanted to date you I would've done it already.”

“Who says I'm even interested?”

“Please. Even if you were, I'm just a little out of your league.” He smoothed back his hair. The gesture was so practiced it actually did look a little bit cool. 

Janice threw herself into the seat and crossed her arms. “Whatever. At least buy me some fries while I'm here.”

“Sure. _To go_ ,” he emphasized, with a scowl to rival Janice's. 

Mabel's face fell. “No, no, no!” she whispered. “This is going all wrong!”

“Not for me!” Stan said, snapping picture after picture. Now all he had to do was get a date before Aaron and he'd prove that Stan Pines was...

He paused. Half the Greasy Diner patrons had started talking, louder and louder, leaning forward to look out the window. 

“Is that him?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Where? Where?”

“Omigosh it's really him!”

“He's coming RIGHT HERE!!”

The door burst open, and in jumped a guy with blond dreadlocks, a belt of weird vials, and tiny wings on his back, pumping his chubby fists. “WHO'S READY TO FALL IN LOVE TONIGHT?!”

Mabel screamed and jumped to her feet. “ _OMG IT'S LOVE GOD!!!_ ” 

The rest of the Diner went wild, shouting and cheering right along with his crazy Grauntie. Love God slapped the juke box and a new song started playing. 

“We're rewriting history tonight!” he shouted. “And it starts with _you_ and _you!_ ”

He pointed to a waitress and an unshaven construction worker sitting at the counter. The two of them looked at each other, grabbed each other's faces and immediately started making out. 

“I GOTTA TALK TO HIM!” Mabel shouted, springing to her feet and sprinting off. 

Stan hung back, watching suspiciously. Love God pointed at another pair of people and they immediately started smooching just like the first couple. Maybe no one else would've noticed, but Stan was a master of sleight-of-hand. And he saw exactly how Love God dipped his fingers into a little pink bottle on his belt right before he'd pointed. Whoever he pointed at looked at the nearest person and fell instantly in love. 

_That's an actual love potion, isn't it?_

Stan's eyes went up at Love God's wings, down at the bottle, then up at the wings again. 

_And if it is, then is that guy...Cupid?!/ ___

__A slow smile spread over his face. Despite the bad beginning, Janice had started talking to Aaron. (Trading insults, probably, but that's what getting along with people looked like for Janice.) But if Stan could get her to fall in love with someone else, the date would definitely be totally ruined! Plus he could use the love potion to get as many dates for himself as he wanted!_ _

__He jumped up and darted behind the Diner counter, ducking to stay hidden, grabbing a bottle of apple cider on the way. He scooted right behind Love God, swapped the pink bottle for the cider, and then dashed back to the counter. Phase 1 complete! Now, who could he pick for Janice's new crush that would permanently embarrass dear old Aaron?_ _

__Love God moved off to sit at a booth, his new groupies (and Grauntie) following behind him. That's when Stan heard the door jingle again. He looked up to see Sweater Vest from the graveyard step into the diner, that cheesy smile still on his face._ _

__He grinned. _Perfect.__ _

__He grabbed the construction guy's untouched fries and stepped out from behind the counter._ _

__“Hey Janice,” he called. “You want my fries? I'm not gonna finish them.”_ _

__“Sure.” She got up and started towards him._ _

__Just as Sweater Vest moved towards the counter, Stan walked forward as if to meet Janice – and then bumped into Sweater Vest, hard, sloshing the potion directly at Janice and Sweater Vest._ _

__Janice yelped as some of the stuff got in her eyes. She stumbled, hit a booth and went down to the floor._ _

__“Ugh! What was that for?!” she snapped, scrubbing at her eyes._ _

__Stan shrugged. “Sorry, I spilled my lemonade! That was totally an accident!”_ _

__“Here, let me help.” Sweater Vest was already pulling a handkerchief – like an actual old-people cloth hanky – out of one pocket. Could the guy get any geekier?!_ _

__“I don't need help!” Janice shouted, looking up. Something seemed to catch in her throat and she froze, staring. Sweater Vest seemed equally stuck._ _

__“Oh,” he said softly._ _

__Stan cleared his throat. “I'll just go over there now,” he said loudly. “Where I will clearly be innocent of all wrongdoing.”_ _

__“Sure, sure, that's fine,” Janice said, still looking at Sweater Vest. She accepted the handkerchief from him without breaking eye contact. “I just, uh...”_ _

__“It was my fault entirely,” Vest assured her, smiling cheerfully. “Hey! How about I buy more fries for you to make up for it?”_ _

__“I could go for some fries,” Janice said._ _

__There was something decidedly weird about her face. That's when Stan realized it – she _wasn't frowning!_ At all! The love potion worked!_ _

__He hurried back to his booth before glancing at Aaron, hoping the guy hadn't noticed the potion part. But the jerk was just sitting there, staring at Janice. He hadn't figured it out at all! And even better, the guy was now completely dateless!_ _

__Valerie came out and set Aaron's order of fries down in front of him, but he didn't so much as glance at it. He just took a handful of cash from his pocket, dropped it on the table, and stood up to go._ _

__Stan grinned. _Success! No way he's getting a date now – at least not before I do. Watch out, babes and beauties, Stan Pines just became literally irresistible!__ _

__

__Aaron slouched out of the diner. Seandra had dumped him and Janice – who no guy in his right mind would look _twice_ at – had just ditched him for a dork. He was going to spend the rest of the summer alone, so he might as well just go back home and numb himself with junk food and a marathon of excessively violent video games. _ _

__“Where are you going?!”_ _

__Aaron glanced back to see Mabel charging out of the diner after him. The words “Love God” had been written in sloppy letters across one sleeve of her jacket._ _

__“What do you want?” he growled, but his heart just wasn't in it._ _

__“What happened?! The date –”_ _

__“– is over,” he said flatly._ _

__“We could try again!” Mabel insisted. “I'm sure there's tons of girls out there who –”_ _

__“Are you kidding me?! I lost out to some loser from Sweater Purgatory! It can't actually get worse! Just get lost already, I'm done with this.” He turned to walk away._ _

__She grabbed his arm. “Wait, wait, I hate seeing you all emo like this! Whatever happened to the hot narcissist who hosted a 2-minute episode right after _Gravity Falls Nightly News?_ ”_ _

__“Maybe he got really weirded out just now when an old lady called him 'hot'. And nobody even watched my stuff!”_ _

__“You just need some fresh material to catch people's attention. I got it!” She snapped her fingers. “I'm gonna fly myself right over the Woodstick Festival and you could come with me!”_ _

__“In what, a plane?”_ _

__“In a hot air balloon! It could be a Special Aaron Anker episode! A bird's eye Woodstick Festival Exclusive!”_ _

__He couldn't help it. As a born news reporter, the word “exclusive” immediately caught his interest._ _

__“Weellll,” he said slowly, “I guess I could do that. Maybe. Ish.”_ _

__“You totally could!”_ _

__“I have about ten spare handheld cameras at home....wait – have you ever actually flown a hot air balloon before?”_ _

__“TO THE SHACK!”_ _

__“But –”_ _

__“HYAAAAAH!” And she charged down the street, dragging Aaron behind her._ _

__

__“Alright!” Seandra called, standing on an overturned crate in Reggie's garage. “Who's ready for the best and most overpriced day of our summer!?”_ _

__“WOOHOOO!”_ _

__Ford cheered loudly with the rest of the gang, grinning up at Seandra. She'd put on a sky-blue top with a yellow bandana around her throat, and a rainbow-colored scrunchie peeked out at the top of her ponytail. Ford had managed to find a long brown vest with rainbow beads on the end, so they totally matched! He was so excited he almost wondered if he was dreaming. He was part of the gang, he was going to see a concert with Seandra, and they were sneaking in snacks based on his own idea! Could life get any better?_ _

__Toby did some kind of weird potty dance. “This is so exciting! I've never gotten to socialize with so many people at once before!”_ _

__“Silence, Human Vending Machine!” Ford ordered, and everyone laughed._ _

__“This kid is a champion!” Reggie said, slapping him on the back._ _

__“GUYS!”_ _

__They turned to see Stan running up the driveway, grinning and holding a water bottle._ _

__“Hey guys,” he panted. “Did I – miss the –”_ _

__“No, no, we're just waiting on Janice,” D'Andre said. “I don't want to leave her out.”_ _

__“Great. Also, Ford!” Stan grabbed Ford's shoulder and turned them so they had some privacy. He held up the water bottle, which was full of a fizzy pink liquid. “Dude, dude, check it out! It's a love potion!”_ _

__Ford looked at him. “Um, what?”_ _

__“You know that guy, Love God, the guy from Woodstick? He was at the Greasy Diner just now with –”_ _

__“Who's _that?_ ” Reggie said suddenly. All of them looked up. _ _

__Two teenagers were walking up the driveway. One of them Ford recognized from the graveyard – the curly hair, borderline-creepy cheerfulness, and corduroy slacks screamed nerd from a mile away. (And if even Ford could tell, that was major nerdage right there.)_ _

__The other girl looked vaguely familiar. She had rust-red hair and nice brown eyes, and she was smiling a little. But he still didn't quite recognize –_ _

__“ _Janice?!_ ” D'Andre gasped. _ _

__“Wait, seriously?” Reggie said, doing a double-take._ _

__Janice smiled a little wider. “Hey guys. Meet Bernard Martin.”_ _

__“Hello!” Bernard waved at them. “It's a pleasure to meet you! I only moved to town a few days ago, but I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you!”_ _

__“MORE FRIENDS!” Toby shouted gleefully._ _

__Seandra looked uncertain. “Wow. Janice, I didn't – um...”_ _

__“Know I could smile?” Janice teased, and then laughed – actually laughed! “Me neither, until I met Bear-Bear, here.”_ _

__“'Bear-Bear'?” D'Andre mouthed._ _

__“And it never would've happened if a certain someone hadn't spilled pink lemonade all over us!” She gestured to Stan, who quickly hid the bottle behind his back._ _

__“Yup!” he said loudly. “It was totally a coincidence that you fell in love and completely ruined Aaron's date with you at the same time! Guess Aaron's the only one who won't be joining us oh well so sad let's go to the Festival!”_ _

__“Actually, guys,” Janice said, and now she was actually _blushing_. “Me 'n' Bear-Bear were thinking we could make it a bit of a date. I know it's last-minute, but I hope it's okay.”_ _

__“Uh...sure,” Seandra said, still thrown for a loop. “I mean...fine. Have fun or...yeah.”_ _

__“Great! Catch you later!” Janice waved and led Bernard away, the two of them already holding hands and talking in low whispery voices before they'd even made the sidewalk._ _

__Seandra blinked a few times. Then she turned back toward the others. “That was...unexpected. Ugh, I was kind of rude back there, wasn't I?”_ _

__D'Andre made a grunting noise, but it sounded more like he was being strangled. “I – you know what, I think I'm gonna sit this one out, too.”_ _

__“What?!” Reggie yelped. “Dude! How come?!”_ _

__“Nothing, okay?”_ _

__“What d'you mean, nothing? An hour ago you were rolling around on the floor chanting 'Woodstick'!”_ _

__“I like Janice, okay?!” D'Andre burst out._ _

__“You _do_?!” said everyone else. _ _

__“Why didn't you tell me that?” Reggie demanded. “We're best friends, I thought we told each other everything!”_ _

__“You always make fun of my crushes!”_ _

__“That's what we _do_ , genius!”_ _

__“Whatever!” D'Andre shoved his hands in his pockets and stomped from the garage._ _

__“Well – well – fine!” Reggie yelled after him. “See if I care! I'm outta here, too!” He stomped from the garage and turned in the opposite direction. Then he stopped and marched right back. “I live here – _you_ guys go!” he shouted. He went through the garage door and into his house, slamming it behind him. _ _

__Toby whined._ _

__“Well...we could still go?” Ford said, glancing up cautiously at Seandra. She looked a little upset._ _

__“Why don't you three go on ahead,” she said. “I don't think I'm in the mood for it anymore.”_ _

__She left and Toby whined louder, flapping his hands. “What do we do now? Having friends was the best 20 minutes of my life! Without this group I go back to bribing pigeons with donuts just so they won't be put off by my cat whiskers!”_ _

__“Yeeeeah,” Ford said, edging slightly away. “Tell you what, why don't you get everybody to the Festival, and I'll figure out a way to fix this.”_ _

__“Really?”_ _

__“Yup, you just go right on ahead.”_ _

__“HOORAY!” Toby rammed D'Andre's bear-hat onto his head and then hurried down the sidewalk, immediately scaring two small children._ _

__Ford glared at Stan._ _

__His brother grinned sheepishly. “Um...oops?”_ _

__“What did you _do?_ ” Ford demanded. “We were all going to go to the Woodstick Festival together! Without Aaron! I was one of the gang!”_ _

__“It's not my fault! I just used a love potion to break up Aaron's date with Janice by making her fall in love with Sweater Guy!” He paused. “Okay so it's _kind_ of my fault but –”_ _

__“Where did you even get a love potion?”_ _

__“I told you, Love God! That sweaty Cupid guy from the Festival. He showed up at the diner with a bunch of potions around his waist. And how's about a thank-you, huh?” Stan held up the bottle. “I was gonna show up Aaron by snagging as many honeys as I could, but I figured you'd want a shot of it for Seandra!”_ _

__“What? Stan, I'm not gonna –” He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. The point is we need to undo the love spell, so let's go find this Love guy and get an antidote.”_ _

__“Fine,” Stan said, following Ford down the driveway. “Also, who the heck made you wear that lame beaded vest? I can totally kill them for you.”_ _

__

__By twilight, the Woodstick Festival was in full swing. Tents and booths were set up in long rows close to the entrance, selling overpriced snacks, drums, cheap jewelry, hats, and henna body designs. There were also starving artists who were literally begging people to buy their work. Several performers were already walking around – a few of them on stilts!. Background music rolled over the crowd, low enough to be white noise, with enough bass to feel the rhythm through the metal of the chainlink fence surrounding the Festival._ _

__Grauntie Mabel clung to the fence, practically vibrating with excitement. “Balloon faster, Ria! It's gonna start, it's gonna start!”_ _

__“I am nearly finished,” Ria said, rechecking her sewing on the last few tarps._ _

__Aaron put fresh batteries his camera, then checked the spare camera in his left jacket pocket and the extra batteries in his right. “Okay, I'm all set to go. How high are we flying this thing, anyway? It can't be too high or I won't be able to get quality footage.”_ _

__“Oh, you'll definitely get quality footage, trust me!” Mabel grinned and dashed to the basket. “Perfect! There'll be just enough room for me, Aaron, and three kegs of confetti!”_ _

__“Those are to help weigh you down,” Ria said. “I would not recommend –”_ _

__“You worry too much, Ria! You sure you didn't change your mind on joining us?”_ _

__Ria looked at the confetti. “Yes, I am sure.”_ _

__“Suit yourself! Alright, Aaron –” Mabel hopped into the basket and scooted over to make room. “Get your fancy hair in here and let's fly!”_ _

__

__There were security guards at the front gate, checking people's tickets and ID. Stan and Ford peeked out from behind two trash cans close by. A poster behind them advertise the Handlebar Bros, three guys whose mustaches were tied together. Stan immediately took out a black pen and then groaned._ _

__“How am I supposed to vandalize this when they already _have_ ridiculous mustaches?”_ _

__“Shh!” Ford whispered, looking around. They could sneak in, they just had to time it right, when both guards were turned away. If he could just keep Stan focused for even a few minutes..._ _

__“C'moooon!” whined a voice, and they looked up to see Seandra, D'Andre, and Reggie standing next to the ticket line, with Toby trying to tug them towards it. D'Andre looked uncharacteristically grumpy, Reggie was facing completely away from D'Andre with his arms crossed, and Seandra was standing between them, looking extremely uncomfortable. “ _Please_ come to the Woodstick Festival!” Toby whined. “My therapist says if I don't have meaningful social interaction soon, I'll become an unlovable hermit shunned by civilization!”_ _

__“Too late,” Stan whispered with a laugh._ _

__Seandra hunched her shoulders slightly. “I dunno, man. It's a little tense around here, and when Janice stopped by, I kind of acted like a jerk. And they really did seem kind of cute for each other. I mean, look at that!” She pointed._ _

__Janice and Bernard were strolling towards the entrance, their arms around each other's waists, giggling and smiling and gazing into each other's eyes like no one else existed on the planet._ _

__“Oh, ew,” Stan grumbled. “They're doing that couple hug-walk. GUYS! YOU'RE IN PUBLIC! PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU!”_ _

__“Says the guy who did it a million times with Carla,” Ford shot back, mostly because he was still angry at Stan. “Now come on already, we have to find Love God before the show starts!”_ _

__Ford pulled him past the security guards and they slipped inside._ _

__It took them about five minutes to work their way along the fence until they came to the back of the stage. The musicians' cars had been parked behind it, and it was very easy to figure out which one was Love God's: it was bright purple, with a scene Love God flying a huge bald eagle over the Giza Pyramids. And it had the words “Love God” on the driver door in pink curly script._ _

__They started forward – then immediately ducked to the side of the stage when a crew worker pushed aside the curtain._ _

__“Love God? Sound check for Love God?”_ _

__The back of the fan opened and the God immediately fell out with an _oomph_. _ _

__“Alright!” he panted, rolling to his feet. “Let's make some miracles happen! Groupies, bedhead me!”_ _

__He leaned forward, and a couple of teenagers sitting in the van reached out and mussed his hair. Love God giggled, then stumbled towards the stage, the groupies following like puppies._ _

__Ford wrinkled his nose with distaste. “Are you sure that's a love god?” he asked Stan._ _

__“ _The_ Love God,” he corrected. “Now do you want that antidote or not?”_ _

__Ford moved to follow Love God onto the stage, but Stan grabbed his jacket._ _

__“Wait – look! On the van!” Stan hurried over and scooped the belt of magic potions off the floor of the open van. “These are all those weird potions he had next to the love spell! Let's see – puppy love, interspecies love, gotta save that one, love of country music –”_ _

__“ _Ew,_ ” they said together. _ _

__“Here it is – Anti-Love!” Stan pulled a vial full of inky black liquid off the belt and held it up. “'To reverse the effects of love potion, simply spray on your victim and watch their heart die on the inside.' Man, I should've used _this_ on Aaron!”_ _

__“Forget about Aaron!” Ford looked around and grabbed a spray bottle of cleaner off a janitor's cart. He popped the spray part off and attached it to the mouth of the anti-love potion bottle. “Okay! Now all we gotta do is –”_ _

__“HEY!”_ _

__They spun around. Love God stood over them, looking like a seriously ticked-off fast food addict._ _

__“So you're the ones who've been stealing my stuff! I am NOT lovin' this!”_ _

__Ford stepped forward. “Look, my brother made a mistake, and we're just trying to fix it, that's all!”_ _

__“No way! This stuff is way too dangerous! On my oath as a god, I cannot let you HEY WHERE'D YOU JUST GO?!”_ _

__“Sorry!” Ford called back, as the two of them raced towards the booths._ _

__“COME BACK HERE!”_ _

__“Why do they always say that?” Stan panted. “Does anyone actually think people would go back?”_ _

__“Forget that, I think we lost him! Now we AAAAGH!”_ _

__“What, what?!”_ _

__Ford pointed. A horrible monster was shooting towards them, its bloodshot eyes rolling, his huge mouth lolling open, brightly colored chip bags flapping from its arms and legs._ _

__Stan did a double-take. “ _Toby?!_ ”_ _

__“HELP!” he shouted. “SECURITY CAUGHT ME WITH FOOD FROM THE OUTSIDE! SAVE MEEEEEE!!”_ _

__“We don't have time for this!” Ford said._ _

__“Don't worry – I'll take care of Toby, you take care of the love potion!” Stan grabbed a bag of kitty kibble from the nearest booth and held up a handful. “Here, Toby! Kitty Kibble!”_ _

__“MY FAVORITE COMFORT FOOD!” Toby veered towards Stan, who ran off, dodging and weaving through the crowd._ _

__

__“You know, this is pretty nice,” Aaron said._ _

__The balloon had lifted them over the gate and Aaron immediately started filming. Most of the crowd was at the stage by now, but a lot of tourists were milling around the booths. Most of them had dressed up in 60s costumes, which made for a great colorful shot, and a lot of them waved when they saw his camera._ _

__Mabel grinned. “Right?! You ain't seen nothin' yet! Wait until we get to the stage!”_ _

__A man on stilts walked by and his top hat brushed the bottom of the basket._ _

__“We may need to get hire for that,” said Aaron._ _

__“You got it! One massive confetti rain coming up!” She tore open the first barrel and started tossing out handfuls of colorful paper, most of it cut in a star shape to match her hot air balloon. “WOOHOO! Peace, love, and glitter, my good people!”_ _

__A couple of Woodstickers below looked rather annoyed, but one of them pumped their fist. “Yeah! Confetti forever!”_ _

__“This guy knows what I'm talkin' about!”_ _

__Aaron grinned and made sure to catch the guy's reaction on his camera. They were slowly lifting higher and higher. Since no helicopters were allowed nearby with all the air balloon traffic, it meant he was probably the only reporter to catch a panoramic view of the whole festival. The confetti was starting to get in the way of the shot, though._ _

__He spit a piece of paper out of his mouth and pulled his camera in to get the confetti off of the lens. “Hey, Ms. Pines? Can you hold off on the confetti for a sec?”_ _

__“But I'm on my second barrel already!”_ _

__He looked up. They were much, much higher above the festival now. It wouldn't be a problem for his spare camera, though; it had a wicked zoom that..._ _

__...wait. Why was the confetti flying back towards them?_ _

__He turned. The heat of the kerosene flame was creating a vacuum that sucked air towards them, drawing the scraps of paper in towards the fire._ _

__“Uh, Ms. Pines?”_ _

__Ms. Pines was leaning over the edge of the basket, calling down compliments to the best costumes._ _

__“That is a GREAT scarf, little lady! Who says neon zig-zag stripes are dead?! And YOU sir! Leg warmers have never looked so stylish!”_ _

__“Ms. Pines?” Aaron said nervously. “There's an awful lot of confetti getting –”_ _

__A sudden gust of wind hit the balloon, sweeping a ball of colored paper into the flame._ _

__It ignited._ _

__

__Ford ran as hard as he could, dodging and weaving through the crowd, but he only made it two booths down before Love God landed in front of him, wings fluttering and sweating worse than Toby._ _

__“ _You!_ ”_ _

__“GAH!” Ford sprinted back the way he'd come, running straight up the stairs and onto the stage. He froze._ _

__The Festival had already started! The Handlebar Bros were onstage performing and he'd just run into their spotlight. A crowd the size of the whole town was staring straight at him!_ _

__The curtain behind him swung open. “Stop that kid!” Love God shouted._ _

__The musicians immediately surrounded him._ _

__“We _mustache_ you to move!”_ _

__“Okay!” Ford launched himself straight at the middle guy, hitting him hard in the chest. The middle guy went down, pulling down the other two, and then Ford jumped straight off the middle guy's chest and landed in the crowd._ _

__People apparently thought this was awesome and body-surfed him away, cheering and whooping._ _

__“GIMME BACK THAT POTION!”_ _

__Ford glanced behind him to see Love God dive straight into the crowd and follow him, pausing only to high-five fans or hand out old-timey cassettes._ _

__Ford clenched the bottle tighter, looking around frantically. He just had to find them and – there! Janice and Bernard were sitting on a grassy hill close to the front gate. There were some bushes right behind them. If Ford could reach them, then he could spray the two lovebirds and all their problems with the gang would be over!_ _

__As soon as he got to the end of the crowd, he jumped to the grass, rolled to his feet, and took off at a sprint._ _

__“I don't think so!” Love God landed heavily several yards in front of him, tiny wings still pumping feebly. Ford shouted and skidded to a stop. Love God grabbed three potions from his belt, lifted them high, and then threw them to the ground in a billow of bright pink smoke. “ _VISIONS OF HEARTBREAK PAST!_ ”_ _

__

__The flames shot straight up the ropes to the balloon itself and lit the whole thing on fire._ _

__Aaron covered his head with a yell as burning embers rained down on them. “AAGH! Why is it burning so fast!”_ _

__“I may or may not have doused it in kerosene!”_ _

__“YOU WHAT?!”_ _

__“Hang on, we can smother the fire!” Mabel grabbed the last barrel of confetti and heaved the whole thing at the flames before he could stop her. The extra fuel sent the fire spiraling up the balloon, and bits of burning paper filled the air as the wind kicked up in the heat of the blaze. Below him he could hear people screaming as they tried to escape the rain of flaming confetti._ _

__“That was our last weight!” Aaron shouted. “How are we supposed to get down now?!”_ _

__“I think we're already going down – look!”_ _

__He risked glancing up and his eyes widened in horror. The fire had reached the top of the balloon and eaten a huge hole in the tarp. The basket gave a lurch and he stumbled as the whole thing suddenly began to fall._ _

__“ _WE'RE GOING DOWN!_ ” _ _

__“I'M GONNA DIE HUGGING!” Mabel grabbed him and hung on tight, and he hugged her right back, both of them screaming as the balloon plunged towards the Woodstick Festival and their very certain doom._ _

__

__Ford coughed and blinked away the pink smoke, eyes stinging, only to find that the smoke had condensed into practically everyone he ever knew back home – old classmates, teachers, and a lot of his neighbors. He even saw Nelson, the kid who'd thrown his football trophy at Ford when he'd presented a yeti fossil in class. Every one of them was made of bright pink smoke, and they stepped in front of him with their arms outstretched, smiling._ _

__“Hey, Ford! We're back!”_ _

__“We like you now!”_ _

__He plowed straight through them, turning them into puffs of guava-scented smoke, but they just kept coming. He tucked his head down and sprinted for all he was worth._ _

__“You're so smart, Ford! Sorry we picked on you!”_ _

__“That fossil was so cool and definitely authentic!”_ _

__“Good job, son.”_ _

__The last voice made him turn, but he'd already punched through the figures and they'd dissipated in a cloud of pink smoke. He tripped and plowed head-first into the nearest booth. A shower of overpriced soda cans rained down on his head._ _

__“Ow!”_ _

__“HA!” Love God grabbed the potion._ _

__But Ford jumped to his feet without letting go. “Nice try, but I've got a built-in helmet and extra digits for a better grip!”_ _

__“Yeah well I have GUTS!” Love God slammed his massive stomach into Ford's face, knocking him backwards so hard Ford went tumbling several yards._ _

__“Ugh,” Ford groaned, sitting up._ _

__“Serves ya right, kid!” Love God gloated. “Only a greater being from the heavens themselves could possibly stop –”_ _

__Suddenly a massive shadow fell over them and screaming reached their ears. Ford looked up._ _

__A massive hot air balloon bore down on them, a star-shaped inferno of burning rope and blackening tarp, filling the sky and a ghastly orange glow. Mabel and Aaron were in the basket, screaming as the balloon came down like a two-ton ball of death._ _

__“ _IT'S COMING DOWN!_ ”_ _

__“RUN! JUST RUN!”_ _

__Ford scrambled to his feet just as something hard slammed into his side, sending him straight into the nearest booth. The canvas side crumpled with the impact and he landed on the ground, hard. He struggled to sit up, but there was a heavy weight on his legs._ _

__“Stanley...?”_ _

__Stanley lifted his head, grinned, and spat out another tooth. “Wow, you really do have a hard head. Just when that other tooth was finally growing in...”_ _

__Something tapped Ford's foot and he looked down._ _

__“The anti-love potion!”_ _

__He leaned down and grabbed, then gave Stan a hand up._ _

__Love God crawled out from under the balloon. “ _You_ two!” he snarled. “You – aw, you know what? Forget it!” He got to his feet and jabbed a chubby finger at them. “You wanna mess with people's lives? You wanna play god? Do it! 'Cuz I QUIT!” Then he staggered away, groaning, calling for a medics and onion rings. _ _

__“Well that's convenient!” Stan said cheerfully._ _

__Suddenly security guards swarmed past them and down the aisles, spraying the hot air balloon with fire extinguishers. Then Grauntie Mabel punched straight through the still-smoldering tarp, gasping and coughing._ _

__“Grantie Mabel!” Stan said, starting forward – and then Aaron popped out of the balloon next to her. “Oh, ugh, not him...”_ _

__“You nearly KILLED me!” he shouted at Mabel. “I'm going to sue you from here to oblivion! I –” he broke into a fit of coughing. Mabel looked pretty badly shaken herself, and a crowd was starting to gather._ _

__Stan sighed. “Just go do your spray thing, I got this.”_ _

__“Wait, what?”_ _

__“Just go already, you do _not_ want to see this.” He took off before Ford could stop him, racing straight up through the dying flames to get to Mabel and Aaron. _ _

__Ford hesitated, then looked at the bottle and hurried around the flaming mess to where he'd first seen Janice and Bernard. If anyone could handle perfect chaos, it was Stan, and he didn't want to wait around long enough for Love God to change his mind about the potion._ _

__Perfect! Janice and Bernard were still in the same spot. It looked like Janice was looking at something Bernard was holding in his hands. Good, they were distracted. He circled around the hill until he got to the other side, then snuck up very quietly until he reached the bushes, stopping only to adjust the nozzle._ _

__“...was so fast, how did you do that?” Janice asked._ _

__“ _Lots_ of practice.” There was a pause, and Ford looked up. Bernard was holding out his hands to show Janice what looked like a delicately folded paper crane. “I made 1,000 of these little guys. That's how many you need to make to make a wish, and it worked!”_ _

__Janice glanced up. “It did? You're in remission?”_ _

___Remission?_ _ _

__“For now! It's amazing, because anaplastic histology actually has a really low survival rate. Most of the other kids in the study already had stage III or IV, and they didn't last beyond a couple of months.”_ _

__“That...sounds terrifying.”_ _

__Ford lowered the spray bottle._ _

__But Bernard just laughed. “No, not really. The worst part didn't have anything to do with the cancer. It was the fact that I'd spent my whole life without really paying attention to it. Then I got cancer and realized, ' _I'm missing it!_ ' All the incredible joys I never even noticed – the way soda fizzles on your tongue, or what a really good burger actually tastes like, or how it feels to look at someone and just know, immediately and deeply, that they have this whole rich inner life that no one even knows about, a whole universe of dreams and hopes and wonders...” He leaned forward, smiling, and very softly tucked the origami crane into her hair. “When I saw you it was like getting cured all over again, I felt so _alive_ , and going out with you is amazing. I'm so glad I have the chance to get to know you.”_ _

__Stan popped up next to Ford and he jumped._ _

__“Didja spray 'em yet?”_ _

__“Gk! Stan! _Sh!_ ”_ _

__Too late, their rustling had caught Janice's eye and she turned, catching sight of them. A huge grin lit her face._ _

__“Stanley!” She got up and hurried over._ _

__Stan gave Ford a questioning glance and stood up to meet her. “Are you going to chew my face off for spying? Because if so I wanna video tape it and sell it for money.”_ _

__She laughed. She actually looked really pretty when she did that. “Can you believe, no? Thanks to you and that dumb – well, that thing with the lemonade, I'm on the first and best date of my life. Bernard talks with me about really meaningful stuff, and he makes me feel...happy? Weird, right?”_ _

__Stan looked from her to Bernard, who had just given himself a flower wreath and was currently making another. He saw them looking and held it up. “For the most beautiful Peony of all!”_ _

__Stan blinked. “Peony?”_ _

__“My middle name,” she explained. “And I don't even feel like killing you for knowing it!” She gave him a thumbs up and then went back to Bernard, bending down so he could crown her with the flowers._ _

__“Definitely weird,” Stan said. He shook his head and looked at Ford. “Are you seriously just going to leave them like that?”_ _

__Ford looked down at the bottle, then stowed it in his jacket with a sigh. “Let's just go.”_ _

__“Seriously?! After _you_ lectures _me_ about love – agh, no, the love potion!” He patted his pockets. “I totally dropped it in the chase, it could be anywhere!”_ _

__“Probably for the best,” Ford said. “Hey, is Grauntie Mabel okay?”_ _

__“See for yourself.”_ _

__They reached the bottom of the hill and Stan pointed. The security guys were spraying down the burning tarp with spare firehoses, and a line had formed leading right up to the balloon's charred basket. Aaron stood in the basket, grinning, his hair freshly gelled (of course), signing autographs and talking to people. Mabel was off to one side, filming the whole thing with his camera, calling what sounded like flirting advice every time someone young and single walked up._ _

__“How did you...”_ _

__“A _lot_ of fast talking. Also there may be a new segment after the usual news tonight, featuring the 'Daring Bachelor of Gravity Falls'. Guy's gonna get more dates than he knows what to do with.”_ _

__“That's...weirdly nice of you?”_ _

__“Yeah, right! Every single date he gets from that segment will be thanks to me. I am gonna get some serious mileage outta that. _Forever._ ”_ _

__Ford snorted with laughter. “C'mon, let's just get out of here.”_ _

__“There they are – Stan! Ford!”_ _

__They looked around. It was Seandra! She was waving to them from behind a soda booth._ _

__Ford glanced at Stan and the two of them ran over._ _

__Seandra was kneeling on the grass behind the booth – along with D'Andre, Reggie, and even Toby! Each one of them held a tiny fuzzball of a kitten, and the mama cat was rubbing her head along Toby's hand, purring long and low._ _

__Stan's jaw actually dropped. “What the heck...?”_ _

__“Isn't it great?” Seandra said, grinning. “For some reason a bunch of people started screaming and running out of the festival gates, so you know I had to get in here to find out what was happening. And then Reggie and D'Andre tried to stop me, which never works, and then we ran into Toby, who was feeding this cat some pink lemonade or something –”_ _

__“Which is _not_ good for cats,” D'Andre said. _ _

__“Whhaaaat?” Toby whined. “She looked thirsty! And she likes me now!”_ _

__Suddenly the cat gave a hiss and all its fur stood on end. It scratched Toby's arm savagely and scooted off to hide behind D'Andre._ _

__“Dude, you okay?” Reggie asked._ _

__Toby just sighed. “It was nice while it lasted.”_ _

__Ford caught Stan's eye. _The love potion! It had to be? Does that mean there's a time limit? Then what about –_ _ _

__“Hey, Seandra,” said a voice behind them, and they turned. Janice was walking up to them, one arm linked through Bernard's, the other holding up her phone. “I got your text! What did you – oh my goodness _kittens!_ ”_ _

__“They're adorable!” Bernard agreed._ _

__Seandra smiled and held hers up. “Right? You want to hold one?”_ _

__“Definitely!”_ _

__“You guys, too,” D'Andre said, holding up a ball of perfect kitten fluff up to Ford and Stan. “Just be gentle. These guys are fragile.”_ _

__“Not as fragile as somebody's ego,” Reggie teased, nudging him lightly with an elbow._ _

__D'Andre smirked. “Really? That's the best you can do? I've heard better banter from that weird bubbly thing in the lake.”_ _

__“I _knew_ you saw it too! Dude, we should totally sneak back out there and take pictures!”_ _

__Stan and Ford each took a kitten and settled into the circle. Ford's cat meowed and squirmed out of his hands, then stumbled awkwardly over to Stanley, stubby legs barely lifting it over the grass. Bernard cooed and Janice started snapping pictures with her phone, at which Stanley threatened to destroy said phone, then tried to make the kittens attack and defend his reputation. The kittens responded by licking his nose._ _

__Ford laughed along with everyone else, enjoying the moment._ _

___I think everything just might be alright._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this episode beat up my muse and left him in a coma for a million months BUT NOW THE SERIES SHALL RESUME! 
> 
> It won't update as frequently as before, because grad school is a thing, but there WILL be a new update on the first Friday of each month. Which, since today is Dec 25, means another update is right around the corner!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left a comment on this series! Comments boost muse morale. It's science, people. 
> 
> See you tomorrow for the short!


	18. The Love God Short

Bud stopped just before the door to the Visitation Room, brushing off his jumpsuit and checking his hair. Then he nodded to the guard, who opened the door for him as he stepped inside. 

“Hello, F– oh. It's you.”

Mabel grinned and waved at him. “Hello, Bud! How ya doin'?”

He scowled, but he moved forward to sit down on the near side of the metal table. Aside from the table and the two chairs, both of which were bolted to the floor, the room was empty. Most of the jail was like that: Spartan metal furniture, chilly brick walls, thick black bars. Next to that, Mabel's bright pink blazer made his eyes water. But even this was preferable to returning to the yard. At least for the next few minutes. Especially because a certain someone would be out in the yard by now...

He felt his face heat up and forced himself to focus back on the smelly old fart sitting in front of him. 

“If you're here to gloat,” he started threateningly, but she shook her head. 

“Nah, nothing like that. I just thought you might like the company! Unless you're expecting someone soon? It sounded like you were saying someone's name when you walked in.”

“I am rather busy, yes,” he said curtly. “So get to the point.”

She shrugged. “Well, I don't want to keep you. Oh! I did bring you some hair- and skincare products, though! One of the officers is checking them out now. I swear I kind of want to stick a tiny green plastic soldier in one of the bottles next time, just to prank her. Or maybe a tooth. Oh! I could put my spare dentures in the skin cream! _That_ would freak her out!”

He nearly gagged. “Ugh, that's disgus – wait, what? Skin care products?”

“Well, duh! It's not like they have a body care store in here, right? And I remember how much you took care of your skin that one time you stole my pool chair. Which, by the way, I have stolen back and am hiding somewhere in the Shack until the time is right to unleash my lawn chair fury once again.” 

He stared at her. 

“ _You_ started it,” she pointed out. 

“No, no, not the chair!” he snapped. “We are not friends! You and your whole family landed me in jail!”

“You were tricking everyone,” she said, standing up. “Okay, maybe this was a bad idea. But you can still have the gifts – I recommend the charcoal mask after the rosewater scrub.” She headed for the door. 

Bud watched her go. His chest felt tight. Something about the gifts – if she could bring those, then maybe – 

“Flowers,” he blurted. 

She turned. “Say what?” 

“Did I stutter? Flowers! If you're going to visit again, you might try bringing flowers and a decent apology!”

She stared at him. Then a slow smile spread over her creepy old-lady face. 

“You don't like flowers...this is about a _girl_ , isn't it?”

“What? No it's not!”

“Oh my cheese it _IS!_ ” She practically danced on the spot. “Who is she? Is she cute? Wait, she _is_ age-appropriate, right? I know star-crossed lovers is a thing for Shakespeare but today it's kinda –”

“She's my age!” he snapped, then realized what he'd said and slapped a hand over his mouth. 

Pines was smiling so big it looked like her face would split in half. “I KNEW IT I KNEW IT OH MY STARS BUD I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU! I will totally bring you flowers! And chocolate! No wait she might be watching her weight – you find out what she likes and I will TOTALLY bring it for you I expect details and there'd better be some juicy flirting in there okay I'ma raid the flower store byyyyyyye!” 

She vanished out the door in a blur of pink and glitter. 

He groaned. Great. Juuuuust _great_. His arch enemy knew he had a crush. What had he been thinking?! It was the isolation they'd put him in after he stole the warden's hand cream, that's what this was! He was going crazy in here! 

He checked his solid-gold watch (a tribute from one of his inmate admirers) and relaxed marginally. She'd be out of the yard by now. At least he wouldn't be able to make a fool of himself there, anyway. 

 

When Bud had first arrived, he had thought he was the only minor in the whole jail – until Two Shoes mentioned that the cell next to him had a kid in it. Apparently her name was Celia, and she'd been arrested for setting fire to the Gravity Falls History Museum a few years ago. Bud hadn't been the least interested, focused instead on reforming the inmates from hardened criminals to his obedient and loyal devotees. He'd never really shared his father's interest in controlling people before, but he finally saw the sense in it. After all, he didn't plan to be stuck in jail forever. The second he got out, he had plans for the Pines family. _Big_ plans. And he'd do whatever it took to bring those plans to fruition. 

He'd also been toying with the idea of a TV show about it, right here from jail – “Li'l Bud's Big House”. It was the sort of thing his Father would have approved of. 

Not that he'd ever shown up.

But that hadn't stopped him from following through with his plans. Initially the inmates had spent their yard time starting fights over who had the most tattoos, or whose finger paintings were best. Bud quickly straightened it out into a place of order, organizing track teams, cartwheeling competitions, and public speaking contests. He flattered, cajoled, and encouraged, until his inmates had channeled their violence into a deep and abiding love for Li'l Bud. They even began offering him tributes all on their own. He was genuinely pleased with their progress...and that of his own plans, as well.

Then last week he'd been in the yard, coaching the inmates for a mancala competition, when Celia had walked outside. He'd looked up and spotted her. She was thin and delicate as a bird, her auburn hair shot through with threads of pure white. Beautiful. 

His first instinct had been to call out to her, to charm her, manipulate her into a swooning devotee as he had so many others. But then he'd noticed the way she was squeezing her hands together, keeping her head down, eyes darting everywhere like she was afraid of something. How it made her look so small and breakable. 

He'd opened his mouth to reassure her – and nothing came out. His mouth felt dry and his hands felt hot. For the first time in his life, he could not put on an act. 

She'd darted back in before he could say a single word, and nothing had been the same since. 

So when the Pines woman arrived with her revolting fashion sense, he decided to tolerate her, for now. After all, perhaps his eventual freedom would leave him in a generous mood, and he'd be willing to alleviate her future punishments – depending on how useful she was in winning Celia's heart. 

She came twice times in the next two days. The first time she'd come back he suspected she might actually have robbed a flower store, given that the warden had to check every single blossom in fourteen separate bouquets. 

“I didn't know what she liked so I got everything!” Pines had said brightly. 

“It will do,” he'd said stiffly. 

For the last visit, she'd coached him on his flirting technique (most of which he ignored) and discussed which gifts would most flatter a young, incarcerated inamorata. Bud sent her everything Mabel brought (except the skin cream, which he did not trust), and they even planned a special surprise for tomorrow, when Bud would speak to her face-to-face for the very first time. 

“Just don't sweat tomorrow and you'll do great!” she'd told him. 

Bud had scoffed. He'd spent years performing under hot stage lights for an unforgiving audience – and a huge crowd of townsfolk, to boot. He wouldn't do something as stupid as _sweating._

But that night he required tributes to include extra-strength deodorant. 

 

“Well?” 

“She carried the flowers around with her all morning, muttering under her breath.”

“And today's package? Did she get it?”

Slasher nodded. “Two Shoes delivered it to her himself, sir.”

“The letter, too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You may go.”

Slasher gave a short bow and moved away. 

Bud surveyed the yard, admiring his preparations. The track team were working on sprints, the gymnastic group forming their pyramid, a few mancala players setting up a game in the corner. But they all knew what to do at the snap of his fingers. Everything was in place. 

But there was no Celia. 

He tapped his foot impatiently. “Shouldn't she have come out by now?” he demanded. 

“Maybe she's using the little inmate's room,” said Skull Crusher, who was currently on his hands and knees, serving as Bud's chair. 

Bud's scowl deepened. “Fine,” he snapped. “Take me to the cafeteria. All this fussin' has me in serious need of comfort food and they'd better be serving pudding today!”

“Yes, Bud!” 

He hopped off. Skull Crusher scooped him up in an arm throne and hustled him toward the building. 

Then the door opened, and Celia stepped out. 

Her pale skin glowed – she'd definitely used the charcoal mask – and her auburn hair, with its intriguing streaks of white, was tied back neatly with the red ribbon. She was even wearing the dress Bud had made, under Mabel's instructions. It was cut from the usual orange jumpsuit, so it fit the prison dress code, but it studded with fiery red rhinestones that set off Celia's hair and made her look like a tiger lily in full bloom.

“Halt,” Bud said, but Skull Crusher had already stopped and was kneeling so Bud could step down. Celia stopped, too, fidgeting nervously.

“Hello,” he said smoothly, bowing and putting as much charm into his voice as possible. “My, but you are a wonderful vision to behold. A Li'l Bud like me is nothing compared to a flower like you.”

She blushed. 

“Perhaps m'lady would care for some refreshment?” he asked, and snapped his fingers. 

Immediately the gymnastics team leaped into action, cartwheeling into place to form an aisle leading straight to the mancala team, who swiftly drew an outline of a blanket and flowers in the dust of the yard. As they swept away from area the chess team laid out juices and snacks smuggled from the cafeteria. All this in mere seconds, and then as one everyone on the courtyard sang the opening verse of “Love in an Orange Jumper” (written by Two Shoes, who was a surprisingly talented songwriter). 

Celia looked slightly dazed. “This is...for me?”

“You like it?” Bud asked, pleased. “We've been practicing it all week.”

She nodded. “It's...really nice,” she whispered. 

His smile widened. “Just wait 'till you see what the Arts and Crafts team can do.”

 

Mabel watched the whole thing through high-powered binoculars half a mile away. She grinned hugely. A little romance would do wonders for Bud! It was just like she'd told Stan – heartbreak makes everyone twice as jerky as usual, and Bud's shenanigans had always screamed heartbreak from a mile away. And she knew for a fact that Gideon hadn't visited his son even once. If _that_ didn't break a kid's heart, nothing would. A little matchmaking just might remind Bud that he was still worth loving. That, all by itself, could be very powerful.

She took out her best camera and snapped three dozen photos with the lens on maximum zoom. She planned on putting them all in an album to give the two lovebirds on their wedding day, which she had already planned out for them, complete with bridesmaids dresses and those little fancy cards they put on placemats. Then she scooted back to her car. She had to drive home and start planning their second date. She was already good(ish) at pyrotechnics – maybe they could do something with fireworks! With both of their names lighting up the sky in a giant heart with little cupids fluttering all around it! This was going to be so PERFECT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you January 4th for the next episode!


	19. Northwest Mansion Noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwayne and Martino show up again! They were first seen in Summerween - Dwayne Adams was the mummy, and Martino Moss was the G.I. Joe.

“How's the guest list looking, Mom?” Preston asked, walking down the stairs to the foyer. The servants were busy laying out everything for the party that evening: there were polished oak tables lining either side of the foyer, covered with red silk table clothes and laden with the finest hors d'oeuvres money could buy. There was a fountain at the center of the foyer, which gushed with sparkling apple cider. His mother was at the window, inspecting as the servants outside cleaned the glass. She turned to smile up at him, guest list in hand. 

“Quite diverse this year, I must say,” she informed him. “A nice mix of – what are you wearing?”

He looked down. He was wearing a tailor-made tuxedo, such a dark purple it was almost black, with a rich amethyst shirt and a pearl-white silk tie. “What? What's wrong with it?” 

His mother sighed and shook her head. “Preston, I thought we agreed that theme was sea foam green.”

He scowled. “ _You_ agreed. Purple is a fitting color for the royalty of Gravity Falls!” 

“Not everything has to be about him, dear.”

Preston growled, but instead of answering, grabbed a newspaper off a small table and whacked a servant's hand with it. “Put the oyster fork at an angle. We're not animals, man!” 

“ _Preston!_ What have I told you about –” 

She broke off as the floor trembled under their feet. The three of them, and the other servants, backed away from the tables as the dishes and food began to rise in the air. 

Pacifica paled. “Oh, no...it's happening!” 

The plates attacked, hurling themselves at anything that moved, shattering on impact when they hit walls and floors. He jumped onto the table. 

“You are my possessions!” Preston shouted, swinging the paper like a bat. “OBEY ME!” 

The fine china paid him no attention, but the cutlery and hors d'oeuvres seemed to take that as a personal challenge. They flew faster and faster, zooming through the air until the place looked a hurricane was trapped indoors. A particularly sinister eclair aimed straight for his mom. 

“DUCK!” 

Preston grabbed his mother and they dove under the table as forks, knives, plates, and finger sandwiches whizzed through the air. Preston pulled the table cloth down after them and backed up until he hit the wall, newspaper still clutched in his hand. 

“No, no, no,” he muttered. “Not now! The party's in just 24 hours!” 

Pacifica set her jaw. “We'll have to call it off.”

“What? Mother, we can't!” 

“Honey, we can't expose our party guests to these kinds of –”

A salad fork sliced right through the table cloth, cut through Preston's sleeve and impaled the wall, its tines imbedded two inches deep. 

“Preston!”

“It's fine, it's just a scrape, really! We can handle this! It's just a little poltergeist nonsense, that's all!” Preston thought fast. He had to think of some way to stop the party from being canceled. Then his gaze landed on the newspaper. “In fact, I think I know exactly who to call...”

 

“ _Ghost harassers!_ Yes!” 

Ford grinned and a Grauntie Mabel butt wiggle, settling deep into her big yellow armchair. He had a fresh-ordered pizza on the T-Rex skull, a bowl of marshmallows and another of nachos on the small table to his left, and a bag of chips in his lap. Plus a smaller bowl of jelly beans, sitting on the top of the chair's back, and a six-pack of soda sitting on the chair's left armrest. He was about to do some expert-level couch potatoing. 

“You asked for it, you got it!” said the TV announcer. “An entire marathon of Ghost Harassers! On the Used To Be About History Channel.” 

He grinned and patted his stomach. “Be strong, bladder. We're not gonna move 'till sunset.” 

Gompers, lying at his feet, grunted in agreement. 

Then suddenly the screen changed and Alexander Anker's voice came on. “We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news!” 

“Oh, what?” 

“It's starting, IT'S STARTING!” 

Stan body-slammed Ford, completely popping the unopened bag of chips. 

“Oof! Ow! Stan, what the heck?!” 

“Wait for us, wait for us!” 

Ford shoved his brother off in time to see those two halloween kids run into the room, their faces shining with excitement. All three of them huddled up to the television. 

“Will someone tell me what is going on?” Ford demanded. 

“SHHH!” 

Alexander came on the screen, standing in front of a huge brick wall with a bronze placard to Alexander's left, engraved with the initials 'NW'. He grinned at the camera. 

“Tonight's the night, so you can eat the last chocolate from your advent calendars! The Northwest Family's annual high society shindig ball soiree is here! And even though common folk aren't allowed in, that won't stop us from camping out to get a peek at the fanciness!” 

The camera turned to the right, showing a huge crowd of townsfolk crowding around the gates to the Northwest Mansion. Then it cut away to show more townsfolk literally camping out in front of the wall. Valerie sitting in front of a television, trying to get reception on the screen by tilting her tinfoil hat. Tanya was sitting on a crate nearby, popping gum and cheerfully waving at the camera. There were even more townsfolk camped out in the background, complete with sleeping bags, jerky rations, and that grungy look people get when they haven't showered in three days. 

“OOOOOOOO,” said Stan, Dwayne, and Martino. 

“Will someone tell me why you guys care about this so much?” Ford demanded. “It's not like it's the Nobel Prize ceremony!” 

Dwayne gave him a disgusted look. “Um, it's pretty much the greatest party of all time? Rich food, _richer girls._ ”

“They say each gift basket comes with a live quail inside!” Martino added. “Wouldn't it be so cool if we could all get in?!”

“Oh, there's a way.” Stan leaned closer to the TV, inspecting the mansion. “We just gotta break in, that's all. Then we'll crash the party. Ladies _love_ the bad boys.” 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Guys, in case you've already forgotten, Preston Northwest is the worst.” 

“Didn't forget,” Stan said, still staring at the screen. “Just don't care. There's gonna be hot babes and free food. Plus last time I was there, I saw a clown painting with my name written all over it.”

 _Knock knock knock knock._

Stan got up to answer it, calling over his shoulder, “Not to mention the look on Preston's face when he realizes that painting went missing. Maybe I should leave a camera so I can get a photo! Or a note – 'You're the worst'!”

Ford heard him open the door. 

“I need your help,” came Preston's voice. 

“You're the worst.”

Stan slammed the door and Ford cheered. Then the knocking came again. Stan opened it. 

“Ugh, what? I am planning a robbery in here.” 

“Look, do you think I want to come here? I don't want to be seen in this hovel! But there's something haunting Northwest Manor. If you don't help me –”

Ford made it to Stan's side in less than a second. “Haunting!? Did you just say the Manor is haunted?!” 

Preston stepped back. He was clearly trying to come incognito – he was wearing a designer sweatsuit, a matching hat and huge sunglasses. It was somehow even more pretentious than his usual getup, but right now Ford barely cared. 

“Er...yes? Look, just do whatever it is you people do and fix it. I'll give you anything!” 

“Absolutely!” Ford said, nodding enthusiastically. “When did it start? How did it manifest? What –”

“'Scuse us,” Stan said. He yanked Ford back and shut the door. 

“Hey! Stanley!” Ford jerked away. “That was an actual offer to investigate a haunted mansion! A _haunted mansion,_ Stanley!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no, I got that. But you drooling over it is not going to get us what I want: Preston groveling at my feet. Oh – and three all-access passes to the best party ever.”

Dwayne and Martino cheered from the living room doorway. 

“We're gonna have the time of our lives!” Martino shouted. 

Stan grinned and stretched out his hands, cracking his knuckles. “Now...prepare to watch the delicate art of the deal.”

Ford grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms, but he stayed put when Stan went back to the door and opened it. 

“Alright, Pimple,” Stan said. “I might be persuaded to let my brother here bust your ghost. But! I'll need three tickets to the party.”

“What?! Forget it!” 

Stan shrugged. “Fine, I'ma break in anyway. Bye.” He started to close the door. 

Ford almost jumped forward to keep it open, but before he could move Preston called out. 

“Wait! Fine! You can have the tickets!”

“Excellent.” Stan swung the door back open and held out his hand. Preston gritted his teeth and withdrew three golden envelopes from his sweatpants pocket. 

“You're just lucky I'm desperate, Slimeball.”

“Yes you are and don't you forget it!” 

(Behind him Dwayne and Martino started chanting, “Desperate! Desperate!”)

Stan shut the door in Preston's face, waving the tickets in one hand. “Boys and gentle-nerd, prepare your finest finery. We're going babe-slash-ghost hunting.”

 

Preston returned to the mansion to change into a pale purple tuxedo, then sent a car out for the Pines brats. He absolutely refused to be seated on the same upholstery as those... _poor_ people. He'd probably catch government-provided health care just from being around them. Stan Pines was the worst of the lot. He had danced – actually danced! – with Preston's mother the last time he was here as Bud's plus one. The very thought made Preston's hands itch, as if they were dying to knock out another couple of Stan's ugly front teeth. 

But he would not. Because Northwests refrained from brute force. Northwests used guile, cunning, flattery, and sheer superiority to achieve their goals. So he would tolerate the Tree Twins and their associated rugrats. He would wait until the problem had been taken care of. 

And then he would kick all four of them straight out the front door, and it would be the sweetest moment of his life. 

Until then, however, he helped his mother set the foyer to rights, keeping an eye on the front lawn. He planned to keep an eye on the riffraff as much as possible, starting from the moment they set foot in the mansion. When he saw Butler II move to the door and pull the switch to the main gate, he knew the car had arrived, and he excused himself meet them. 

In mere moments, the heavy front doors swung open, revealing the two mini-poor people (both in tacky and clearly rented tuxedos), Stan (who looked like a monkey in a suit in his tux), and Fred (or whatever his name was, still in the same clothes he wore earlier. As if anyone ever looked good in a jacket like _that_ ). 

He swept an arm to indicate the foyer. “Welcome to Northwest Manor, dorks. Try not to touch anything.”

“EVERYTHING IS FANCY!” Dwayne shouted. 

“DIBS ON THE FOUNTAIN!” Martino shouted back, and the two of them immediately ran to dunk their heads in bubbling fount of cider in the center of the foyer. Stan sprinted straight for the nearest buffet and started stuffing chocolate after chocolate into his tux, and Preston wrinkled his nose in disgust. He started to turn – 

“Whoa!” 

He jumped back. Ferdi was less than a foot from his face, notebook and pencil in hand, backpack bristling with supplies. 

“So! Is this where the activity occurred earlier? How long did it last? Did it leave any ectoplasmic residue? How would you rate the violence of the activity on a scale of one to ten?” 

A voice rang out before Preston could answer. 

“Ah! If it isn't the man of the hour!” 

The two of them looked up to see Preston's mother approaching, looking every bit her usual high-class self in a designer dress, diamond earrings, and her rich blond hair cascading down her back in shimmering waves. She smiled at Frog. 

“Hopefully you can help us with our little...situation, before the guests arrive in an hour?”

“I'll do my best,” Fin promised, adjusting his backpack. 

“Splendid!”

“I'm going to take him to the problem room,” Preston told his mother. Then he glanced at Fergus, who was picking his teeth with his pencil. “Actually, I'm going to take him to wardrobe first. That outfit is a problem all on its own.” 

“You're not wrong,” she said thoughtfully, eyeing his clothes. “Alright, Preston, let me know if you need any help. And your father should be fashionably late, so make sure you're back here in a couple of hours.”

 

Personally, Ford didn't see what a new outfit had to do with fighting ghosts. 

He also didn't understand why the Northwest Manor had an actual clothing store in the left wing, complete with a small haberdashery and its own line of ties. (And three paintings of previous Northwest patriarchs showing their achievements in tasseled frames.) Preston informed him that their servants were expected to dress nicely, told Ford he expected the same of him, and then shoved a suit at him. Ford did not find this encouraging. 

He shoved aside the curtain of his dressing room, having changed into a suit with a collar so tight it nearly strangled him. 

“How do you even _breathe_ in this stuff?” he choked out, tugging at the doll-sized neckline. “Who do you think you're impressing, anyway?”

“Um, everyone?” Preston stepped over and fixed Ford's bowtie. “You wouldn't understand. High standards are what make the Northwest family great.”

Ford glanced up at three paintings and flicked a tassel. “Funny, I thought it was lying about founding the town.”

“Don't touch that!” 

 

“Hey guys! It's the guest list!” 

Stan looked up from where he'd been slipping silver spoons into his pant legs. Dwayne hurried over to him, waving a thick book, with Martino right behind. 

Stan rubbed his hands together. “Perfect. Let's see what rich snooty people I'm gonna pickpocket tonight!” 

Dwayne opened the book. Each guest had a full-color photo, their name in cursive, and a short biography that listed exactly how rich they all were. Most of them were “filthy stinking rich”, apparently. 

Stan's eye bypassed the chubby-faced millionaires and zoomed straight to the picture of a stunning brunette, with chestnut-colored hair, freckles, and a heart-shaped smile. 

He grinned. “Wow! Check out _that_ eye candy!” 

“'Meredith von Fundshauser',” Dwayne read aloud. “'After inheriting her father's factory, Aglets and Eyelets, she copyrighted the use of the phrase 'thanks a million' and invested her earnings in three-tined oyster forks. She quickly rose to prominence as one of the richest girls at Richardson Richington's Rich Girls Academy, where she is currently their valedictorian, with a net worth of' – how many zeroes is that?!”

“Guys?” Martino said. “Isn't she kind of...old? I mean for us? Or we're kind of young for dating here. Girls still gross me out a little.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Dude, stuff like that will get you trapped at the kiddy table for life. Alright, Dwayne, change of plans: you're gonna be my wingman and I'm gonna charm Meredith like the Prince of Cool I am.”

“Hey! What if I want to flirt with her?”

“No way, I saw her first.”

“I had the guest book first!” 

“The only reason you're in the part is because –”

“Guys!” Martino broke in. “Look, if you _have_ to flirt with her, just take turns! Let her decide if she wants to go out with you. Alright?” 

Stan narrowed his eyes at Dwayne, who narrowed his eyes right back. Forget the clown painting. There was no way he was going to lose this girl to some preteen twerp. But if he didn't agree, he knew Dwayne would probably dump punch on his head or something and ruin his moves. 

“Fine,” Stan ground out, and Dwayne nodded. 

They shook hands and tried to crush each other's fingers. 

 

Preston lead him down the Indian-hand-woven-rug-lined hall to a huge pair of wooden doors. 

“Here,” he said, gesturing. “We watched the security films and this is where it started. Do whatever it is you do and get rid of it.” 

Ford adjusted his backpack and opened the door. 

“Whoa...”

The room looked like something Manly Dan would like, if he was ten years older, a million bucks richer, and way creepier. The opposite wall was filled with huge windows, their blood-red curtains drawn back to show the raging storm outside. There was an old gramophone in one corner, and a heavy cherry-wood table against the right wall, in front of a row of bookshelves. The center of the floor was bare, but a plush chair and a bearskin rug sat close to a fireplace on the left wall. There was a painting above the hearth, but the rest of the wall was crowded with stuffed animal heads – deer, bobcats, rabbits, moose, toucans, even a mouse. Massive moose racks adorned each wall. Lightning flashed and threw creepy shadows into the room, so that the moose racks looked like claws and the blank animal eyes gleamed as if temporarily alive. 

Preston came up behind Ford. “This is where most of the activity has been happening. It only affected the foyer once. The rest of the time, it was all in here.” 

Ford nodded. “Yep, this looks like the kind of room that would be haunted, alright. I wouldn't worry, though.” He took out his journal and held it up. “Ghosts fall on a Category 10 scale. Falling plates sounds like a Category 1.” 

Preston smirked. “So, what, are you going to bore him back to the afterlife by reading from this book?” 

Ford held up a round glass vial. “Just gotta splash this sucker with some anointed water and he should be out of your probably disco-era tux.”

“What was that about my tux?!” 

His EMF Meter beeped. “Sh! I'm picking something up!” 

He took the meter from his backpack – he'd made it himself, modifying Stan's metal detector. He checked the screen to make sure it was working, then started to sweep the room with it. It led him straight to the fireplace. He looked up, getting a close look at the painting – a barrel-chested lumberjack posing with his ax. He had the same vacant eyes as the stuffed animal heads. Ford's spine tingled. He should've guessed – haunted paintings were a hallmark of paranormal activity. In fact, Category 4 was specifically haunted paintings!

Suddenly his meter stopped beeping. He frowned at it and tapped the side until the screen lit up again. 

“There we go.” He looked back up. 

The man in the painting was gone. 

He gasped. “Preston! I knew it! It's coming from the –”

“AGH!” 

Ford spun around. Preston was backing away from the wall as blood poured from the mouths of the stuffed animal heads, staining their fur and the wall like a murder scene. Preston ran to Ford just as the fireplace exploded into flames. They both jumped back with a shout as the fire gushed out, licking up the brick mantle. 

Ford whipped out his notebook. This was perfect, he had to take notes! 

The heads groaned. “ _Ancient sins, ancient sins, ancient sins..._ ”

“Uh, Ferdinand?” Preston said nervously. 

Wind whipped through the room, tearing books from the shelves and hurling sabers through the air. The atmospheric pressure increased so fast Ford's ears popped and a dark storm cloud slowly seeped from the ceiling, growing as it circled the antler chandelier, crackling with electricity. At that point Ford was taking notes with one hand and snapping pictures like crazy with the other. 

“Finnian! What is this?!” 

“It's a category 10!”

“Stop writing and get rid of it!” 

“Oh right, right!” He took out the bottle of water – and it exploded in his hands. “Uh...”

Lightning snapped through the air and singed their hair. They ducked, screaming. 

Blood was now pouring from the animal heads' eyes like vampire tears. 

“ _Ancient blood and blackened skies...the forest dark shall once more rise!_ ”

Preston grabbed Ford's lapels and shook him. “What do we do, what do we do?!” 

“Don't worry, it can't get worse than this!” 

Suddenly the fire blazed so hot Ford's skin turned red with the heat. A huge, black, skeletal hand shot out of the fire, its charcoal bones wreathed in flames. A second hand emerged, and then the head – fleshless, eyeless, with an ax embedded in the skull. It roared and the animal heads roared with it, their eyes and mouths now glowing with the same hellish flame as the skeleton. Pale ectoplasmic flesh grew over the skeleton with a horrible squelch. The longer he was in the mortal world, the more power the ghost was getting!

Ford grabbed Preston and ducked under the table. When he glanced back to look, the skeleton was already completely encased in ghostly flesh. It was the lumberjack from the painting! Its flannel shirt half-rotted with ribs showing through, the skin of his arms rotted and discolored, but it was definitely him. It straightened slowly, firelight shining on his bald scalp. Its right eye was gone, just a black hole in his face, but its left eye glittered with malice. 

“ _I smell...a NORTHWEST!_ ” 

Blue flames erupted from his head and chin, forming a mane of flickering blue hair. Ford broke out in a cold sweat. It looked – it looked exactly like – 

The lumberjack raised its hand and an ax materialized at once. He dropped it to the ground and dragged it, prowling the room, leaving an ugly scar in the floor in the wake of the ax. “Come oooout,” he growled. “Come out, wherever you are.” Blue sparks flew from the blade. 

Preston grabbed his arm. “Hurry! Read through your dumb book already!”

Ford jumped and yanked his arm back. “It's not dumb, okay? This book is going to save our lives!” 

He flipped it open and found the page for Category 10, then grabbed his blacklight and flicked it on. The advice from the author said: _Pray for mercy._

“Oh, seriously?!” 

Suddenly the table moved over them, sliding to the opposite side of the room. The ghost turned and saw them. 

“ _You shouldn't have come here!_ ” 

“Yep we're leaving!” Ford grabbed Preston's arm and yanked him just as the lumberjack swung his ax. It cut straight through the tile, but the two of them were already at the doorway, sprinting down the hall. 

 

Pacifica opened the front doors to the foyer herself and stepped back, smiling, to invite her guests inside. It was a diverse group in more ways than money – royalty and the nouveau riche had flown in from all over the world. 

“Welcome, dukes and duchesses, sultans and sportsmen.”

A basketball player in the back spun a ball on his fingertips. “Yo, whut up, Pacific-o?”

She and gestured to the last guest, a woman of regal bearing and indeterminable age. She wore a black dress and a black fur coat which made her skin glow like polished ivory. “And welcome to our reclusive Mayor of Gravity Falls, Sadie Frost.”

Frost smiled slowly, curving her deep red lips. When she raised a hand in greeting, three crows took flight from her coat and circled in the air, cawing. 

“They're with me,” she said silkily. 

Pacifica suppressed a shiver. “Welcome to all. Tonight we will enjoy only the finest of tastes and only the snootiest of laughter.”

She meant it as a joke, but the Duke of Bellingcornwallton actually gave a snooty laugh, complete with a hand wave. 

Pacifica's smile grew strained. “That's the ticket.” 

 

“Cheese...chocolate...cheese...chocolate...”

Martino looked up. Dwayne was moving a fondue fork back and forth between a cheese fountain and a chocolate fountain. He sighed, put down his fancy pudding and approached Martino slowly. 

“My dude, you are caught in a sweet-savory loop. Put the fondue fork down.”

Dwayne stared at the gooped-up fork. “I want to, but I can't.”

He sighed. Dwayne only ate weird food combinations on dares, or when he was really nervous. “Look, man, if you're that worried, you don't have to flirt with anyone. We came here to revel in the free food and mock the rich. Maybe cover up for Stan when he steals that clown painting.”

“Exactly! It's _always_ about Stan. We helped him with his sock opera, toilet papered Ms. Flores' house, took his dare to eat McGucket's possum stew –”

“I _liked_ the possum stew. And Ms. McGucket.”

“And you're weird for that, but not the point. He always takes center stage whenever we hang out with him. For once, _I_ want to stand out. And this is the perfect place to do it!”

“But –”

A clinking sound echoed through the hall and they turned to the door. The snooty butler guy was standing there, tapping a silver spoon against a glass. He cleared his throat. 

“Introducing Meredith von Fundshauser.” The butler turned to a line of servants bracketing the doors, and the two closest ones opened them. 

Meredith stepped through just as the storm outside abated. A golden ribbon of sunlight broke through the clouds. It bathed her in a natural spotlight, setting off the reddish highlights in her hair, the glow in her cheeks, the shimmer in her rose-pink satin gown. Martino raised his eyebrows. Wow, she was _beautiful._

She moved gracefully into the foyer, nodding to the two of them, then to Stan, who stood frozen on the other side of the room, a glass of punch forgotten in his hand. 

Martino grinned. “Alright, go for it.”

Dwayne blinked. “Wh-what?”

“Hurry up, before Stan gets there first!” Martino grabbed the fondue fork and pushed him towards Meredith, then headed straight for Stan. Personally, he thought the whole flirting thing was a lot of hoopla over nothing, but even without the bet he knew they'd both try to flirt with her anyway. But he didn't want his two best friends to end up fighting. So he'd stall out Stan until it was his turn, then grab Dwayne and drag him away. Hopefully Meredith wouldn't be interested in either one of them, and the evening could end with them all hanging out again. (And/or stealing that painting.)

 

Ford sprinted down the hall, following Preston and flipping through the journal at the same time. The ghost laughing behind them, its pale blue aura flickering ominously over the pages of his book. It was getting closer all the time!

_Come on, come on, there has to be something in here that can help!_

Preston grabbed his arm and jerked him to the left. “Hurry! Through the garden! Watch out for peacocks!”

“What AGH!” Ford nearly ran smack into a big green peacock and jumped to the right, sending them both stumbling into a mud puddle. But they kept running, dodging through obsessively-manicured hedges until they looped to the back of the garden and slipped into the mansion through a small side door. 

“C'mon, c'mooon – I got it!” Ford held up the book. “A haunted painting can only be trapped in a silver mirror!” He looked up and saw the hallway dead-end in a lounge area decorated in pearly whites and lavenders – with a silver mirror on the whitewashed coffee table. “Look! There's a silver mirror right there!” 

“WAIT! Don't go in there!”

Preston grabbed his jacket and yanked him back, choking him. 

Ford knocked him away. “Our lives are in danger!” He made another dash for the mirror but Preston caught his arm and dug in his heels. 

“I said _no_ , this room has my dad's favorite carpet pattern! He'll lose it if we track mud in there!” 

“What? Are you serious?!”

“We'll find another way!”

“Did you miss the part about the mortal danger?!”

“ _Come out, come oooout.._.”

The ghost! Ford shoved Preston away. “We don't have time for this!” 

But Preston body-slammed him to the floor, pinning him down. “No, my dad will kill me!”

“Only if the ghost doesn't kill us first, now let go!”

Ford struggled to his feet, but Preston grabbed the journal and yanked, sending them both tumblin into the nearest wall – and then straight through it. 

They landed somewhere dark and musty. Ford froze when he heard the ghost's dark chuckle...but the chuckle seemed to be getting farther away. Had they lost it?

He sat up slowly, elbows and knees aching from hitting the floor. It looked like they'd fallen through some kind of secret flap in a painting and landed in a hidden room. He looked around. It was too dark to see much, so he reached into his backpack and clicked on his U.F.O. keychain. The dim blue light revealed a bedroom-sized area full of sheets, draped over furniture or paintings, judging from the shapes. 

“What is this place?”

“It's none of your business, that's what it is.” Preston got to his feet, dusting off his sleeves. “The point is that we lost the ghost. We'll just have to find another silver mirror.”

“I guess.” 

Ford stood up, collecting his journal. He definitely wasn't about to go back out to the hallway where the ghost could spot them. But maybe there would be another mirror somewhere close by. 

The two of them moved quietly through the drapes, touching nothing, keeping an eye out for a mirror. There was a doorway or something up ahead; Ford could see a crack of yellow light striping the floor. Good, they had a way out. He started towards it when he noticed Preston was no longer walking next to him. He glanced back, saw Preston standing in front of a drape-covered panting – and the ghost was coming through the painting, covered in the drape!

“Preston! WATCH OUT!” 

“ _YOUR FATE IS SEALED!_ ” 

Preston jerked back as the ghost lunged at him. He sprinted away, knocking down a table as the ghost gave chase. The table fell with a clatter, spilling antiques across the floor. And one of them was a silver mirror!

Ford grabbed it and ran, following the ghost's laughter. The lumberjack had Preston cornered against a window. 

“ _PREPARE TO DIE, NORTHWEST!_ ” 

Preston threw up his hands and screamed as the ghost dove for him, its ax aiming for Preston's neck. 

Ford jumped between them at the last second, holding up the mirror with a shout. There was a ghostly wail that set Ford's teeth on edge and a streak of pure ice shot down his arm. A burst of power hit his chest and he flew backward. His momentum carried him and Preston into the drapes and then straight through the window. He heard glass shatter and his head spun as they tumbled, hitting each other in the face and gut with their knees and elbows. 

Finally they rolled out of the drape and came to a slow stop in the middle of the garden. The peacocks gave them quizzical looks. 

“Did – did you get him?” Preston panted. 

Ford looked down at the mirror, still held tightly in his hand. 

The lumberjack was trapped inside, angrily banging on the mirror's surface. “ _Noooo...free meeee...!_ ”

“We did it!” Ford said, jumping to his feet. “Oh man, I can't believe we fought an actual ghost! I wish I'd gotten a picture of the mirror part, do you think we could do it again?”

Preston stared at him. 

“Fine, fine,” Ford said quickly. “I'm sure I can set up a camera or something to document the actual exorcism.”

“Honey?”

They looked up. Pacifica was hurrying out to meet them, with three butlers at her heels. Somehow she managed to run in high heels, without getting a speck of dirt on either her shoes or her dress. (Ford made a mental note to research this supernatural phenomena at a later date.)

Pacifica glanced to the shattered window and back to them. “Preston! You broke a window?! Wait – are you hurt?”

“I'm fine, Mother.”

“Sorry about that,” Ford said. He held up the mirror. “But look! We got the ghost!”

She sighed with relief. “Thank goodness that's over. I can't thank you enough. Would you like to stay for the party?”

The look on Preston's face almost made Ford want to say yes. But he _did_ have a Category 10 ghost to dispose of. 

“I should probably take care of this first, but thank you.” Then, in case Preston tried to throw them out, he added, “It looked like a really nice party, though. Preston invited Stan and a couple his friends to come, too – I'm sure they're having a great time.” 

Preston's face turned a pleasing shade of purple. It went very nicely with his tux. 

Pacifica smiled. “Well, you're welcome back any time. Thank you so much for your help.”

They said goodbye and one of the butlers directed Ford to a side exit in the wall of the garden, so he wouldn't be mobbed by townsfolk at the front gate (or accidentally let everyone in). The forest wasn't too far away, and he knew a nice spot nearby that would have stayed dry from all the tree branches curved over it – the perfect place to light candles for an exorcism. 

He was just heading there, mentally running through his checklist of required supplies, when a dark chuckling came from the mirror. 

He frowned at it, holding it up. “What're you laughing about, man? I defeated you.”

The ghost grinned at him, its left eye glowing. “ _You've been had, boy. You remind me of me, one hundred and fifty years ago._ ” 

“What do you mean?” 

“ _One hundred and fifty years ago this day..._ ” 

 

“...and I actually _have_ a car. An exact duplicate of a 1965 El Diablo convertible. You should come check it out some time! I'd be happy to give you a ride – I know _all_ the hidden trails in the forest, and where to get the second-best views in the whole valley.” Stan grinned at her. “Of course, I'm looking at the number-one view right now.”

Meredith grinned awkwardly. 

He started to sweat. He'd made Martino drag his little wannabe player away, then gotten Meredith to dance with him before getting her some punch. She hadn't seemed very interested in Dwayne, but Stan had been talking to her for the past five minutes, and she didn't seem very interested in him, either. Where was that love potion when he needed it?

Suddenly the front doors slammed open. 

“ _NORTHWESTS!_ ” 

They turned. Ford was standing in the doorway, looking furious and, for some reason, holding a hand mirror. 

“Who is that?” Meredith asked suddenly, eyes lighting up with interest. 

“That's my brother, Ford,” Stan said. The shout had drawn a lot of attention, and everyone was turning to look as Ford stormed over to Preston. “Oooh, Ford looks mad. Wanna see him rip Pimply a new one?” 

But Meredith was already moving straight past him, making a beeline for his brother. She didn't even seem to notice whether Stan followed her or not. Even worse, Dwayne saw her leaving Stan and hurried to catch up to her – only for a group of hoity toities to intercept Meredith before Dwayne could make a move. 

Stan couldn't even bring himself to laugh. He and Ford looked exactly the same! The nerd had even stuffed himself into a black tux just like Stan's! And yet Meredith hadn't even seen him for two seconds before she'd dropped Stan like an expired coupon for Spam. What the heck had he done wrong now? 

Well...well she was just a jerk, that's all. Didn't know quality boyfriend material when she saw it. Or maybe she did because Ford _was_ quality boyfriend material, but what the heck did that make _him?_

He kicked at the ground, shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked away. Who cared about stupid girls and their stupid dress and their stupid ego-crushing stupidness. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered under his breath. 

He headed towards the back of the foyer to a small brown door marked “servants”. At least he could still steal that clown painting he'd found here last time. He could probably sneak it out under one of those little carts he saw a butler wheeling around, with a bunch of gourmet food on it. Heck, if he could do that, he'd have an awesome clown painting and bonus free food! And hey, with all those townsfolk outside, he could probably sell the food piece by piece and get filthy rich himself, right on the spot!

He smirked a little and turned down the second hallway on the right, swaggering at the thought of all the cash he'd rake in. When he reached the gallery room he stepped inside and flicked on the light. 

The room was almost exactly the same as he'd seen it before: two or three paintings on each wall, vaulted ceiling, cushy benches, tiled floor. The clown painting hung on the opposite wall, directly across from the door. 

Except it wasn't on the wall anymore. One of the cushy benches had been dragged underneath it, and there was a girl crouching on the bench, the painting in her hands. She was dressed all in black, a girl with reddish highlights and rosy cheeks, who looked exactly like...

“ _Meredith?_ ”

 

Ford knelt next to the stump by the woods, a circle of candles flickering dully around him. Stupid Preston and his stupid jerkiness. The worst part was that Ford should've expected some kind of slimy back-stabbing behavior from the Pimple. _Of course_ Preston would just use people however he wanted! Of course he'd tricked Ford into helping him, even when it would have been so easy to lift the curse himself! But no, Preston just used Ford so he could keep his rich-people-only rule going...and Ford was so eager to do actual ghost-hunting that he never saw it coming. He just fell for it, hook, line, and vengeful spirit. 

Right now, he could definitely relate. 

“Exodus demonus, spookus scarus,” he muttered under his breath. It was the chant to conduct the actual exorcism, but his heart wasn't really in it. “Aint'-afraid-a-no-ghostus...” 

“ _Stanford...Stanford!_ ” The ghost swept closer to the surface of the mirror. “ _Please let me get my revenge on the Northwests! You hate them as much as I._ ”

“Hey man, I feel you. But my brother's in there, and you seem a liiiitle unstable, man.”

“ _Very well. But –_ ”

“And I _don't_ make deals.”

The ghost sighed. “ _Fine. Then may these tired lumber eyes gaze upon the treetops one final time?_ ”

Well, that wasn't really a deal, soooo...

“I guess? Knock yourself out.” He held up the mirror so the ghost could see the trees.

Suddenly the ghost let out a low chuckle, and the mirror's handle started growing hot. So hot that – 

“YOUCH!”

Ford dropped it, fingers burning, and the mirror shattered when it hit the ground. Ford leaped to his feet as the ghost surged out of the mirror's broken shards, his chuckle growing into insane laughter. The sky darkened and lightning flashed. 

“ _Yes...VENGEANCE!_ ” 

“No wait!” Ford shouted, but the ghost was already shooting towards the mansion. “Oh no – Stanley!” 

 

Preston had hardly finished shoving that ghost-hunting pauper out the door when his mother came up behind him. 

“What was that about, dear?” she asked. “He sounded upset.” 

Preston scoffed, turning away from the doors disdainfully. “He just wanted more money from us, but I'd already agreed to the terms. Nothing to worry about. I wasn't going to –” He stopped short. The servants that stood along the walls for decoration suddenly picked up their trumpets in unison and gave three celebratory blasts. Two butlers dressed in special purple suits marched smartly towards the front doors. Preston spun around just as they were opened. 

Richard Northwest stepped over the threshold. His hair was swept back and gelled in a perfect balance of refinement and athleticism, his face a sculptured study in masculinity, each white tooth gleaming under a well-cultured mustache. He wore a purple custom-made Italian suit, with two lackeys draped over each arm and a crowd of no less than twenty people behind him, all of them trying to subtly shove each other out of the way while keeping their eyes fixed on the back of Richard Northwest's perfectly groomed head. 

“Father!” Preston cried. 

Pacifica smiled tightly. “So good to see you, dear.”

“Ah, Pacifica! My wife, you know,” he told his entourage, and the ladies in the crowd pretended to pout. He laughed at them. “Now, now, none of that! A basic rule of business is to keep a valuable resource, such as myself, scarce enough to drive the price sky-high! Speaking of which...” He raised his voice and gestured grandly to the foyer. “Autographs will be available at a starting price of $200, and the first ten customers get a picture with me at a discounted price of $300! My servants will give you directions to the lounge!” 

The crowd murmured with excitement and Richard strode across the foyer, heading confidently the sweeping red-carpeted stairs.

They were leaving! Preston moved to follow them – and then Pacifica caught his father's arm, so gracefully that it looked like Richard had beckoned her there himself. 

“Richard, _dearest_ , it's been months since we've last seen you. Perhaps you would like to spend some quality time with your son.”

Richard glanced down at Preston, who only at this very moment remembered that his shoes still had mud on them. 

“Mmm. Next party perhaps, eh, Pacifica? When he can measure up a bit more!” He put a hand out to Preston's height, which came up only to the bottom of his ribcage. The other guests laughed bawdily at the joke, then realized Richard was leaving them behind and hurried after him, trying to trip each other on the way. 

Preston's gaze was focused somewhere in the middle of the room. He knew it, he _knew_ the theme should've been purple, his father would've stayed if the party decorations had been his favorite color! But his mother never listened. That was the problem, she never _ever_ listened, and now thanks to her his father had called him short and dismissed him. Just like that! She took away his one chance to get noticed by his father in a good way and now he'd have to wait an entire year to try again!

His mother reached out to touch him but he jerked away, staring up at his father. Richard had paused at the top of the grand staircase, grinning hugely when a groupie insisted on paying one thousand dollars for a shot of him framed by the fireplace at the top of the stairs. If...if Preston asked to pay for a photo, then maybe...

“Preston,” Pacifica started quietly. 

_SMASH!_

They jumped as every single wineglass – and the lens of his father's groupie's camera – shattered all at once. The fire roared up, so high the flames leaped out and nearly singed his father's mustache. 

Then something blue and horribly familiar swooped out of the hearth and hovered high above everyone's heads, grinning hideously. 

“ _Generations locked away, my revenge shall have its day!_ ”

Blue lightning shot from his hands, heading straight for the mayor. Sadie hissed and turned with a swirl of her dress. The lightning struck her shoulder, but instead of bursting into flame or shrieking with agony, Mayor Frost turned into actual wood, right up to the crow that hadn't gotten off her shoulder fast enough. 

Preston jumped back with a scream. 

He wasn't the only one, either. Party guests ran in all directions, getting zapped one by one as the ghost laughed maniacally. Then Preston heard a roar and turned, only to see the stuffed animals lining the room had come to life! The bear was thumping around on his stump, the stuffed duck was terrorizing the finger sandwiches, the deer was scraping its way across the floor with its front hooves. 

Pacifica grabbed his arm. “Preston, what's happening?! I thought your friend took care of this!” 

“BUTLER!” 

They looked up. Richard was grabbing groupies left and right to shield himself as the ghost kept zapping. His hair was out of place and he looked panicked. 

“PREPARE THE PANIC ROOM!”

 

“I'm _not_ Meredith,” the girl snapped, and Stan blinked. 

Now that he looked closer, her eyes were a slightly lighter shade of hazel, her voice was lower, and she was five levels cooler than Meredith. (Although that may have had something to do with the fact that she was stealing the clown painting.)

“Are you...her twin or something?” Stan asked. 

“Look, kid, I got a schedule to keep here. So buzz off.” She glared at him, then flipped a screwdriver out of a belt around her waist and tapped the door. A hollow knock sounded, the wall buckled slightly, and a painting of a snooty rich guy swung forward on hinges. A secret passage! 

“Whoa, that's so coo– HEY WAIT THAT'S MY PAINTING!” 

 

Stan and Not-Meredith struggled for the painting, each of them grabbing a corner of the frame and shouting insults at the top of their lungs. If he wasn't so focused on getting the painting, he might've been impressed: this art thief had serious pirate-level vocabulary. 

Suddenly the mansion trembled as if caught in an earthquake, vibrations traveling up the walls and shaking dust from the ceilings. 

“What was that?” Not-Meredith asked. 

Stan gave the painting another yank. “How should I... Wait. My brother was hired to exorcise a ghost here. You don't think...?”

“MEREDITH!” Not-Meredith shouted. They both dropped the painting and Stan bolted for the exit and raced down the hall, the other art thief at his heels. 

The foyer was total madness. There were random statues of people everywhere that looked oddly like the party guests, and stuffed animals – as in actual taxidermied animal parts – were thumping, scraping, rolling, chomping, flying, and crawling all over the floor, trying to take a bite out of anything that moved. A huge blue ghost floated up near the ceiling, with hair made of actual fire and an ax shoved into his skull. His hands glowed blue-white and lightning shot out, striking a party guest, who immediately froze in place and turned to wood. 

Stan jumped back, even though the ghost wasn't even facing his way. “What the heck is going on here?!” 

“OH MY GOD – _MEREDITH!_ ” 

He spun around. The art thief was staring straight at Meredith, who had been statue-fied in a pose of pure panic, arms outstretched as she raced for the door. Dwayne was frozen next to her, both hands up like he was trying to block the wood rays. Martino and Ford were nowhere in sight. 

The ghost was starting to turn in their direction. 

Stan grabbed Not-Meredith just as she started to run out onto the floor. He yanked her under the nearest table just as the ghost floated past. 

“Leggo!” she hissed, scratching at his hand. 

He didn't let go. “Just give it a sec! My brother always knows exactly how to stop this! He's gonna come barging through that door any second, then you can go to your twin while the ghost is distracted.” 

She stared at him, white-lipped, then nodded. 

The ghost swept over the foyer again, chuckling darkly as the stuffed animals gnawed on the party guests. Stan held his breath, listening to the screams of the terrified guests. There were fewer screams with every passing minute. 

_Sweet Moses, Ford, please get here quick!_

 

Ford burst through the doors as lightning cracked through the sky. His jaw dropped open. Nearly all the party guests had turned to wood, trees were actually sprouting up through the floor, and stuffed animals had come to life and were generally doing whatever weird things they wanted. 

“Please!” A party guest crawling on the floor stretched out to Ford, his body slowly turning to wood. “Help...me...!” 

He leaped back, heart pounding. “WHOA! That is messed up!” 

_Wait - what if the same thing had happened to Stan?_

A dark, familiar chuckle came from the ceiling. Ford looked up as a grandfather clock chimed midnight. The ghost's hellish blue glow lit the room. 

“ _Only one way to change your fate...a Northwest must open the party gates!_ ” 

“A Northwest...? Pacifica!” 

He looked around – she was the nicest of the bunch, maybe she could help – but he didn't see her anywhere. For all he knew she'd already been petrified. 

A clicking noise caught his ear and he turned, drawing back to hide himself behind a guy who'd been frozen with his toupee flying off. Off to one side of the foyer was a doorway he hadn't noticed before, but now it was open and revealed a very familiar room, the furniture covered in musty old drapes. And standing in the middle, clicking a flashlight on and off, was Moneybags Junior himself. Well, if Pacifica wasn't around, he was the next best thing. 

Ford hugged the wall and, crouching, ran to the doorway as fast as he could. 

“Preston! Hurry! The ghost is turning everyone to wood, and he just started rhyming for some reason – actually I wonder if he would start talking in limericks at some point BUT ANYWAY I need your help!” 

He grabbed for Preston's hand, but the other boy yanked it away. 

Ford gritted his teeth. “Oh, what, are you going to tell me you're allergic to poor people germs?”

“Who cares,” Preston muttered. 

Ford paused. Something about Preston seemed...off. For one thing, he hadn't even glanced at Ford, and there was no snooty putdown or snarky comeback. And now that Ford was paying attention, were Preston's shoulders just the littlest bit hunched up under that stupid purple tux? 

“Um...Preston?” 

“My mother put these away,” he said, flicking on the flashlight. “But I always knew where they were. That's how I knew there was a space behind the painting.” 

The beam fell over a series of paintings, almost exactly like the ones Ford had seen in the clothing store. Each one showed a guy who looked like the grown-up version of Preston, grinning maliciously at the camera as he made shady deals with local townsfolk or stole from someone behind their backs. 

“My dad,” Preston said, still looking at the photos. “And his dad, and his dad. They could do _anything_. They pulled off every deal in their own favor, and they never let anyone get in their way. Not even me.” He clicked the flashlight off and dropped it. It hit the floor with a dull _thunk_. His voice was raspy. “Not even me.” 

Ford stared at Preston. 

“I'm...sorry,” Ford said eventually. “I really didn't mean to let the ghost come back here. It just got away before I could finish the exorcism. So – so you can tell your dad it was my fault if you want.” 

Preston slowly shook his head. “Who even cares. It's too late.” 

“ _It's too late! You are all WOOD!_ ” 

Ford jumped and dashed back to the entrance of the hall. He gasped. 

The lumberjack had petrified everyone. Dark trees loomed everywhere like pillars of death, taxidermied animals frolicked grotesquely among the wooden guests, and the ghost floated in front of the blazing hearth, smiling vengefully. 

“ _A forest dark, a lesson learned...and now the Northwest Manor will BURN!_ ” 

The fire blazed up. The picture above it – a massive portrait of the three Northwests – caught fire, burning with a dull crackle. 

“He can't do that!” Preston hissed. Ford hadn't even realized he'd followed him. 

Ford gritted his teeth, grabbed a silver serving platter off the floor and leaped onto the nearest stump. 

“HEY, GHOST!” 

“ _HA!_ ” 

The ghost spun around, lightning cracking from his hand before Ford could react, snapping the platter out of his hand like a whip. The lightning curved back and struck him on the knees. Instantly his feet went numb, and woodgrain crawled rapidly up his legs, devouring him. 

Horror leaped in his gut. “No no wait, someone help! _SOMEONE HEL–_ ”

 

“What did you DO to him?!” 

Preston whipped around. His mother was stumbling to her feet, both shoes missing, gown torn, somehow looking very much like an enraged tigress. She glared up at the ghost. “What IS all this? You change everyone back THIS INSTANT!” 

Yes, that was definitely her tigress voice. That tone was enough to get Preston to clean his own room, without servants. But the ghost's grin only widened. 

“ _You wish to break the curse? Pull that lever and open the grand gate to the town! Fulfill the Northwest's ancient promise!_ ” 

She blinked. “The town...?” 

The trap door to the panic room swung opened. His father and Butler II stuck their heads out. 

“Pacifica Elise Northwest, get down here this instant!” he hissed. “And don't you _dare_ pull that lever! I can't let the townsfolk see me like this! I have a reputation to maintain!” 

Pacifica turned slowly to face him. “You knew,” she said, her voice low and filled with venom. “ _You knew_ how to break the curse. You only showed up when I said the ghost was gone! You were fine putting your family and guests in danger! When all along we could've solved it just by sharing our bounty!” She turned smartly and marched for the front door. 

“Don't you dare – Pacifica!” Richard shouted. He scrambled out of the panic room. 

“ _NORTHWEST!_ ” 

The ghost sent a bolt of lightning aimed straight for Richard's head. Richard grabbed Pacifica's arm and yanked her in front of him. She turned to wood in an instant. 

Preston screamed. “ _MOM!_ ” 

Richard dropped her and crab-crawled as fast as he could back to the safety of the panic room. 

“Change her back!” Preston shouted at the ghost. “Do you hear me?! CHANGE HER BACK!” 

“Preston, get in here!” Richard ordered. “We have enough food and air to last us a full week! We'll eat the butler!” 

The ghost turned slowly to face Preston, his one eye gleaming greedily. 

“ _You wish to save her? Fulfill your ancestor's promise!_ ”

“You dare disobey me?!” Richard sputtered, and only then did Preston notice his own hand reaching for the lever. “Boy, you touch that lever and I'll put you in boarding school! MILITARY boarding school! GET OVER HERE NOW!” 

Preston grabbed the lever and pulled. 

The ghost gasped and rushed to the window, but Preston could already feel it – a low rumble that meant the townsfolk were already storming into the mansion. 

“ _Yes...yes, it's happening!_ ” the ghost cried. “ _My heart, once as hard as oak, now grows soft like more of a birch or...something._ ”

The trees rooted in the foyer suddenly vanished. The stuffed animals keeled over, inanimate. The guests gasped for breath, suddenly flesh and blood rather than sap and bark. 

His mother frozen off-balance, shifted back with a gasp and clattered to the floor. 

“Mom!” Preston rushed over and caught her arm to keep her from hitting her head. She looked up at him dazedly. 

“Why does my mouth taste like phloem?” 

The ghost was smiling at them. “ _Preston. You are not like the other Northwests._ ”

He didn't answer. 

The ghost rose toward the ceiling. “ _I feel...lumber...justice..._ ” He faded away, until the only thing left was the ax. It fell to the floor so hard it sliced right through the tile. 

Richard peeked through the trap door. “Is it safe?” 

Preston opened his mouth to answer, but the entire population of Gravity Falls suddenly burst through the door. Preston pulled them back quickly to avoid being trampled. 

It was instant mayhem. Tanya Cutebiker squealing over the three-tined forks, the Corduroys swan-diving in the apple cider fountain, some guy in a sweater vest chiseling away at Preston's ice sculpture to resemble a purple-haired girl. Everywhere he looked commoners were touching things and giggling and generally acting like hobos. Preston practically gagged.

Richard leaped out of the Panic Room. “Good lord, the riff raff! They're everywhere!” 

“I'm fine, thanks for asking,” Pacifica bit out, getting to her feet. 

Richard spun around, hair in his eyes, glaring at Preston. “You little –”

“You say one more word and I'll throw you out in front of all your guests,” Pacifica snapped. He stopped short. “You were willing to put your own family at risk just to protect your own ego, only crawling back when you thought it would be to your own benefit. You know what that's called, Richard? It's called grounds for divorce.” 

Richard gave her a long look. Then he sneered. “You were never my favorite trophy. After the party, get your things. This mansion belongs to _me._ ”

“It's the only thing that does.” 

He walked away, smoothing his tux, combing back his hair. Pacifica shook her head. 

“Should've done that a long time ago. Preston...” She turned to look at him. He didn't meet her gaze. She sighed deeply. “I'm sorry I didn't protect you sooner. Stay and enjoy the...er, rest of the party. We'll be moving to my summer mansion tonight; I'll send the servants to start packing our things.” 

Preston still didn't look, but he could feel it when she moved away. His mind felt weirdly blank. 

Someone behind him cleared his throat. “Uh...Preston? Did you...are you okay?”

“Enjoy the party,” he told Ford without looking. “Next year my father will just lock everyone out again.” 

He strode away before Ford could say anything else. 

There wasn't anything else to say. 

 

Stan stumbled to his feet. One minute he and Not-Meredith shaking with fear under the table, the next minute townsfolk were swarming over the foyer, dunking their heads in the cheese and chocolate fountains. 

“Ha! We're alive! YUS!” 

“MEREDITH!” Not-Meredith shouted. She nearly knocked Stan down diving for her look-alike, who was now sprawled on the floor looking daze. 

“I'm fine, I'm _oof_ ,” Meredith grunted, as her twin hugged her tightly around the middle. “You wouldn't believe it. This ghost appeared and turned everyone to wood!”

“We know, we saw, it nearly got us too!”

“Us?”

“Me and him.” Not-Meredith jabbed a thumb at Stan. “He caught me with the painting.”

“'Him' has a name, y'know,” Stan grumbled. 

“Yeah, you're...that Stuart guy, right?” Meredith looked around. “But what're you doing here, Miriam? What about the painting? There was even this killer distraction –”

“Which my brother probably solved,” Stan snapped. “Of course, you probably guessed that, since you were practically _drooling_ over him the second he showed up and completely forgot I even existed.”

Meredith raised an eyebrow. “Well, sorry to burst your fragile male ego.”

“It's not – for crying out loud, you took one look at Ford and were suddenly all googoo-eyed! And we are _identical twins!_ For all you knew he was gonna be exactly like me, but you still wanted to flirt with him instead! What is so _wrong_ with me!?” 

They glanced at each other. Then Meredith got to her feet. 

“Look, Stan, it's not like that. Miriam says you caught her with a certain pricey object, right? What if you'd been a security guard instead? Nobody really knows I have a twin, so my job is to keep as much attention on myself as I can, and that way nobody can pin anything on either of us. And your brother walked in, and all eyes were on him – what better way was there for me to make sure I had witnesses to my whereabouts than hanging out with the center of attention?”

Stan stared at her. “So...the whole listening-to-me-flirt part...”

“Was part of the con, sorry. And you really do seem like a nice guy. You didn't get all handsy when we danced, unlike a lot of pretentious pricks I know, and you asked about my own interests a couple of times, which nobody in _this_ crowd would ever think to ask.” She gestured with a disdainful wave of her hand to the millionaires lying around the floor, looking shell-shocked. “But to be honest, even if I wasn't trying for an alibi, I have zero interest in dating. Anyone. At all. No matter how nice you are. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I mean...okay. So the reason you didn't care wasn't because I'm... Right. Right. It was all part of – hey, wait! Where'd Miriam go?” 

She looked at him innocently. “Who?”

“Aw, FRICK!” 

He tore out of the foyer, through the servant's door and down the hall, skidding into the art room. It was empty! And the painting was gone!

He yanked aside the tapestry, but there was nothing but a solid wall. A secret entrance or something? He patted around the place where it had been, knocked on the plaster, even tried punching it.

“OW!”

He leaped back, knuckles throbbing, and the tapestry fell back into place. A paper dislodged from the top of the tapestry and fluttered through the air. He caught it. 

_Better luck next time, Stan._

He stared at it for a second. 

“...I think I'm in love.” 

 

Ford moved through the crowd. That last part with Preston's father... The creepy ghost spell had broken just in time for him to hear the whole thing. It was the definition of 'awkward'. And painful. He was trying not to think about it, or the squirmy feeling in his gut. 

The crowd was now mostly townsfolk, which Ford guessed meant the curse was broken. Which meant that Stan, if he was here, had to be okay. Ford just wanted to find him and be sure, then maybe go home and catch whatever was left on Ghost Harassers. He would be more than happy to just _watch_ ghosts getting exorcise from now until...well, at least next week. 

It didn't take much looking to find Stan. He was standing on top of a buffet table, while a pretty-looking girl with reddish highlights in her hair hung on his arm (and every word), while a circle of townsfolk listened avidly. 

“– and then WHAM! POW!” Stan mimed a left hook. “I beat that sucker easy-peasy and _made_ it open the gate! Ghost didn't even see it coming!” 

The girl swooned as the crowd applauded. “You're so brave.” 

Stan saw Ford and waved him over. “Hey! Ford! Meet Meredith, she's using me as an alibi!” 

“Say what now?” 

“He _means_ ,” she said, stomping on his foot, “that he's the center of attention for all these good people of the town.” She batted her eyes at Manly Dan and he turned beet-red. 

“Exactly! I mean sort of – Dwayne over there went around shoving a bunch of people down under the tables before he got zapped, and they're all over there bribing him with money and favors so he won't tell anyone what pathetic wusses they were.” Stan jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, where a bunch of older millionaires-slash-billionaires were trying to shove handfuls of jewelry and wads of cash at the Man of the Moment himself. Dwayne did not look displeased with the attention. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Ford said. “Word is next year they'll probably lock everyone out again. Or at least Richard Northwest will. Also, on an unrelated note, we should probably be nicer to Preston.”

“Um, what?”

“Just trust me.”

 

Miles away, deep in the recesses of the Gravity Falls dump, Candy's computer finished running her calculations. It beeped loudly, startling Candy awake. She fell out of her bathtub with a thunk. 

“Hya! Whazzit!?”

The computer continued to beep and she logged in. Calculations flashed over the screen and she let out a choked gasp. 

“Fiddleford!” She reached over and shook the young boy's shoulder – he'd been helping her create the equations she needed, but she hadn't yet told him what it was for. “Fiddleford, wake up!” 

“Mdad?” 

“Somethin's comin'! The calculations finished runnin' and –”

“Time 'zit?” he asked sleepily, blinking himself awake. Then all of a sudden he jolted upright. “Omigosh it's NIGHT!? What time is it my dad's gonna kill me I'll come back tomorrow Candy bye!” He jumped to his feet and dashed out the door. 

“WAIT!” she screeched, but he was already gone. She looked back at her computer screen. The image of an inverted triangle glared at her in bold red lines. She couldn't remember what it meant, but that sign, along with the statistical results of her equations... 

“Somethin's comin,” she groaned, pulling at her hair. “Somethin' _big..._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya weren't expecting the Preston angst, were ya? TADA!!!
> 
> See you tomorrow for the short!


	20. Northwest Mansion Noir Short

**King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Hi Miriam!

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Who are you and how did you get this chat address

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Wait...

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** I'm Stan, we met at the party!

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Are you that Romeo wanna be

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Yeah you are

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** YEAH I AM 

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** How the heck did you get this address you stalker

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Let's just say I know a nerd or two. And they are easily bribed by crocodile tears. I mean it's not even funny. One of them even gave me their nintendo DS to make me stop. Okay i lied that's frigging hilarious

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Anyway you totally owe me a clown painting, but I'm thinking two or three online dates and we'll call it even

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** I owe you nothing go away

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** It literally has my name on the back 

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** No it

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** ...

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** HOW THE ACTUAL HECK

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** :))))))

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** How did you do that?! I was watching you the whole time!!!

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Pretty impressive, right?

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** I hate you tell me how you did that

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** In exchange for...?

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Fine. ONE date. 

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** I befriended a child psycho with a gallon of hair gel who got me into a shindig they had at the mansion a month ago. I pretended to go to the bathroom and saw the painting, but instead of stealing it danced for ten minutes straight with Pussbutt's mom. You shoulda seen the look on his face, man I wish I could have *that* framed, it was PRICELESS

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** *Pussbutt*?

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** and I called him that

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** to his face

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** it was a proud moment

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** That's not fair you can't make me laugh that hard

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** I have more

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** No

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Pimple Putzpants Pepto-Pukeface 

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** And my personal favorite

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Backpfeifengesicht

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Those are the ones this website will let me type

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Backpfeifengesicht 

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** frickin heck

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** I told Merideth and she's laughing so hard

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** That's it that's his new nickname

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Merideth's in on it now, she's going to spread the nickname around and pretend she thinks it means 'Your Highness' and he'll eat it up. Then when the time is right someone will accidentally “discover” the word's true meaning and I WILL get a picture of the look on Preston's face!!!

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** I might even pay money for a copy of that!

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** How the heck do you even know that word?

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** I speak English, Spanish, random German, and the language of love 

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Aaand you ruined it.

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Wait till you hear what nicknames I come up with for a smoking hot art thief  <3

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** I'm not even an art thief, you dork. 

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** And yet there is currently a stolen clown masterpiece in your possession soooo

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** It was and IS still registered as belonging to my father. He lost it and a lot of other priceless stuff to the Northwests in a shady business deal. The financial loss drained his accounts and he just kind of gave up on everything after that. 

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Merideth convinced him to give her the aglet factory before it went belly-up. She's a business whiz and she got almost the whole the family fortune back, but not the stuff that belonged to him. That part is MY job. 

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** you are so hot

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Dude

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** what?? doing that risky stuff is not only awesome all by itself but you're doing it for your family and that is epic YOU CANNOT CUSS ON THIS WEBSITE right there

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** stupid censors

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** You are such a dork.

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Yes but I'm the dork who's going to steal your heart 

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** But do me a favor and if you ever come back to the Falls avoid mentioning our budding romance to my grauntie or she will have the wedding planned in less than two minutes. I kid you not

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** the heck is a grauntie

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Caffeine and marshmallows in human form 

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** also possibly related to me

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** whut

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** i mean my great-aunt DID fly and crash a hot air balloon right on top of the Woodstick Festival so she may actually be related to the King of Cool

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** I'm not even going to poke a hole in that sad little lie you tell yourself.

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** it does say king right in my username

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** of NEW JERSEY

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** And yet you live in Gravity Falls.

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** We're visiting our grauntie for the summer. It's our first time here, actually – must be fate that you and I met, locking eyes over the painted face of a crying clown

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** Oh my god

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Milady doth protest and yet

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** would you say yeat to a second online date?

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** It's not YEAT it's YEA

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** wait

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** GREAT TOMORROW SAME TIME BYE

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** YOU LITTLE PUNK

 

 **King_of_New_Jersey123456:** Hastsa manana mi bella dama

 

 **Now_You_See_It:** I hate you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave Stan a bachelor forever. He said it himself in canon, he's a real catch! 
> 
> See you April 3rd! PREPARE FOR THE DRAMAAAAA!


	21. Not What She Seems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACK FROM THE BRINK!! Enjoy~!

“BLAAAH! It's here it's here it's here!” Stan dragged his baggy-eyed brother down the hall, practically vibrating with excitement. 

Ford yawned. “Stan, c'mon, it's _summer_. Summer is 'sleep in' time.”

Stan brought them to a halt and spun around. “Okay, so I was just opening random doors definitely not up to anything at all, when I found something AMAZING!”

“If it's worth waking up at 7 AM for, that _will_ be amazing.”

“Feast yer eyes!”

Stan swung open a hallway door with a flourish, revealing a small closet with cobwebs, an old trench coat – and a huge box of illegal fireworks. 

Ford's eyes went wide. “Whoa!”

“Right?” Stan wrapped an arm around Ford's shoulders. “Bro, bro, we're both thinkin' it...”

“CRAZY ROOFTOP FIREWORKS PARTY!”

“Not so fast!”

They flinched. Grauntie Mabel stood behind them, scowling. She wore a scruffy maroon robe and bunny slippers, yet she was surprisingly intimidating. “There is no way on earth you're lighting those dangerous, illegal fireworks...WITHOUT ME!”

“YEAH!” Stan punched the air. 

Ten minutes later, the three of them were dressed and up on the roof with a couple of lawn chairs, the box of fireworks, and no less than six books of matches. 

Ford lit a sparkler and hurled it into the air. It exploded over the lawn in a burst of green sparks. Stan cheered. 

Mabel grabbed the next match, lit a rocket launcher, and handed it to Stan. “Here ya go, sweetie! Set something on fire for your Grauntie Mabel.”

“I AM THE GOD OF DESTRUCTION!”

Stan fired the rocket and it arced toward the treetops, exploding midair in a multicolored shower of yellow, blue, and pink dazzlers that spiraled to the grass. Grauntie Mabel scooped him onto her shoulders and the three of them cheered, yelling themselves hoarse until it finally fizzled out. 

“Hold on. Do you have a permit for those?”

They looked down. Velasquez and Johnson were squinting up at them. 

“Uh,” Ford said. 

“Do you have a permit for being totally lame?” Stan called back. Ford laughed and Mabel cheered him on. 

Velasquez snickered, too. “Well, I can't argue with that. Carry on.”

Mabel watched them go and sighed. “But seriously, we better clean this stuff up.” 

Stan looked down. The front lawn was charred, the spelling bee branch was smoldering, and chunks of charred fire cracker husk littered the ground. The banner of flags was actually on fire and snapped in half as they watched. 

Ford nodded. “Yeeeeah...guess we'd better put those fires out.

“With water balloons?” Stan asked. 

Mabel grinned. “I don't see why not!”

 

Mabel reclined on the sofa out on the porch, soda in hand, watching the niblets try to pelt each other amid gales of laughter. Ford ran past with his jacket tied around his waist. He turned and tried to throw his balloon, but it just landed at his feet with a splat.

“Seriously?” he asked – right before Stan nailed him in the face. 

Mabel laughed. “Nice shot, butternut!”

Stan ran past bellowing a war cry and waving his popsicle. 

She sat back with a sigh of pleasure. The sun was shining, the grass smelled sweet, and the lawn was even getting a free watering. Not to mention the little gremlins were running around having the time of their lives.

“This is what Saturdays are for,” she said aloud. “Doing dumb things forever!”

“DUMB THINGS FOREVER!” Stan and Ford shouted, linking arms and jumping into a huge pile of water balloons. The water splashed over the porch. 

“Whoa there!” Mabel said, smiling.

Stan stood up, a water balloon in one hand, popsicle in the other. “To Grauntie Mabel!” he declared. “Not just a _great_ Grauntie...”

“The _GREATEST_ Grauntie!” Ford finished, and the two of them peppered her with more balloons. 

She got to her feet, laughing. “Alright, alright, I surrender! I tell ya, it's unnatural for siblings to get along so well.”

Stan looped an arm around Ford and started swinging him back and forth. “Don't worry – we still have plenty of summer left to drive each other crazy!” 

Ford shoved Stan backwards so he fell onto more balloons. 

Mabel's guts twisted. “Heh, yeah. Plenty of summer left.”

Only if she'd done all the calculations right and didn't blow them all to bits. And even if she had, and it worked, it would change their family forever. In a good way, she hoped, but what if he was still mad at her...? She had to at least tell her grephews what was coming. 

“Kids, there's something I should tell you.” 

Stan sat up and both twins looked at her. Those big innocent eyes knocked the wind from her sails. 

“I...”

_...have been lying to you by omission all summer?_

_...am currently activating a portal which might blow up half the state?_

_...want to bring my long-lost brother home even though he might be mad at me and kick me out of the house and you'll have to go home early and I might not see you again form months or even years?_

“...have to go refresh my soda,” she said aloud, and hurried around the building to avoid their stares. 

She couldn't do it. She couldn't admit that she'd been lying to them. She loved Stan and Ford – she didn't want to lose their trust. The mere thought was like a knife to her heart. 

But the countdown had already started. She glanced at her watch, biting her lip. 

“Enjoy it while you can, Mabel,” she muttered. “Today's the day.”

Suddenly something bright red flicked past her eye and landed on her fez. She brightened. 

“Oooh, is that a ladybug?”

She felt the fez carefully, but there was nothing there. 

Then more red stuff caught her eye. She looked down to find herself covered in bright red spots. 

She frowned. “But I didn't eat avocado taffy – oh. Oh no!”

An extremely buff guy slammed her to the ground. She hit the dirt with a thud and spat out grass. The guy had her pinned and she could feel the cold bite of cuffs around her wrists. 

“Hey!” 

“Target secure, take the house!” someone shouted. 

She craned her neck to see. Hunky federal agents were popping out behind every tree, rock and trashcan, covering everything in caution tape and tax forms. Helicopters circled the Shack like oversized vultures and dropped onto the roof. She heard more agents surrounding her grephews on the lawn. There was shouting, a thud, and the two of them came rushing over, Stan wielding a bat. 

“If you don't give me a tricked-out taser RIGHT NOW I'm gonna smash a coupla choice organs with my bat!” Stan shouted. “Also GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY GRAUNTIE!” 

“Yeah, hands off, you stooge!” Mabel snapped. The guy holding her just hauled her to her feet, shoved her to the nearest jeep and push her face down on its government-grade hood. “OW! I don't understand! What did I do that warrants...this much arresting?” 

“If that was a pun I am impressed,” Stan said. 

She heard Ford gasp and looked up. Those two guys who'd been snooping around all summer walked out from behind the jeep. 

Ford's jaw was practically hitting his shoelaces. “The government guys?! I thought you got eaten by zombies!” 

“You thought what?” Stan asked. 

“We survived,” Trigger said. “ _Barely_.”

Powers nodded. “I used Trigger as a human shield. He cried like a baby.”

“Wha – hey!” Triggers hid his face. “Not in front of the Special Ops guys...” 

Stan sniggered. 

Powers reached into the jeep, pulled out an eyePad with the agency logo, and started typing. “This is security footage of a government waste facility,” he said. He turned the eyePad so Mabel could see it. “At 0400 hours last night, someone robbed 300 gallons of dangerous waste.” 

Mabel looked closely. The image showed someone in a full-body hazmat suit taking barrels of waste in and out on a dolly, but luckily her womanly curves were hidden by the rubber. She put on her best dumbfounded face. 

“What? You think that's _me?_ ”

“Don't play dumb with us, Pines!” 

“But-but I actually _am_ dumb!” she insisted, but the agent behind was shoving her towards the jeep's backseat. She dug in her heels. “Hang on a second! Last night I was restocking the Gift Shop, I swear!” 

“Wait – Grauntie Mabel!” Stan cried. 

“You've got the wrong person!” Ford's anxious voice was girlishly high. “Our Grauntie Mabel might paint the town with glitter, but that was just the once! She's crafty in the _arts_ way, not the criminal way!” 

Mabel listened hard. Maybe with their cuteness combined, they'd get her out of this...? 

She twisted back to see Powers take a knee. “Listen, kid, we've been watching your family all summer, and we've seen some disturbing things. But nothing as dangerous as what your great-aunt is hiding. Somewhere in this Shack is a doomsday device!” 

_What?!_

For a few seconds her brain actually whited out in panic. No way they'd found out about the Portal, no way, she'd been so careful – even the toxic waste stuff was circumstantial – she had to – Dipper – 

When she snapped back the agent was forcing her head down and the next thing she knew she was sitting in the jeep, hands cuffed in front of her. 

“No, wait!” 

She pressed up against the glass in time to see her grephews being loaded into a different car a few feet away. Her heart squeezed. They looked bewildered, and scared, and _small_ – if she lost them too – 

She banged on the window. “Kids, you gotta believe me! For once I'm actually innocent!” 

Her car's driver flicked the switch and hit the gas. She wasn't even sure they could hear her, and now they were getting farther and farther away. 

“ _Kids!_ ”

 

Manly Dan grinned, swinging his new ax over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Mrs. Pines!” he called, stepping into view of the Shack. “Guess what I won in the Logging Com–”

The Shack was swarming with federal agents and people were shouting importantly into walky talkies, breaking down doors and smashing through windows. 

He stopped in his tracks, made a silent wish that Mrs. Pines wasn't getting arrested for all of her warrants at once, and then hustled quickly back down the road. 

 

The FBI had coopted the police department. Velasquez and Johnson had made protested on her behalf, which warmed her sweater-knitted heart – until the FBI popped out an emergency pinata. Then they rushed off and left her alone to be mug-shotted, finger-printed, and shoved into an interrogation room with her hands now cuffed behind her back. Even worse, the only decoration in the room was a cork board behind that looked nearly as bad as Ford's conspiracy board. It was full of photos of the Shack, seismic maps of the surrounding area, a pouch full of glitter, and a lot of paraphernalia from years ago – 'Pines Report Cards' and 'Pines Finger Prints' ad 'Pines Whatever'...none of which were hers. 

_I have to get out of here. I have to be there when something goes wrong, or he might never come back!_

Two agents in hats and glasses stood on either side of the closed door, while Powers folded his hands behind his back and approached the table. He looked even more humorless than usual. 

“Mabel Pines, you stand accused of theft of government waste, conspiracy, and possession of illegal weapons. How do you plead to these charges?” 

“G-guiltoccent! Uh, I mean, innoguilty! Um...” She swallowed. “Can I have my phone call?” 

“The guilty don't _get_ phone calls.” 

“What? Yes they do! Even Bud Gleeful called me from jail once to ask what kind of cologne girls like best!” 

His scowl deepened. “Prison connections are not helping your case, Pines.” 

“Just one phone call! Then you can interrogate me all you want. I'll cooperate, I promise!” 

Powers narrowed his eyes. Then he gestured to the Hats-n-Glasses Twins. The two agents grabbed her, one on each arm, and walked her to a cold gray cell with cinderblock walls. One of them dialed, the other held the phone to her ear. 

“Thanks.” She smiled weakly. “Uh, can I have some privacy? The call involves, um, female stuff.” 

They left reluctantly, one of them grumbling under his breath about women and their gossip. She didn't care if he thought she was arranging an underground doily association as long as they left her alone. 

The cell door swung shut as the call went through.

“Should I get cinnamon, or maybe powdered sugar?” 

“Ria!” she called. 

“Mrs. Pines? Is this some sort of possession situation?” 

“Ria, pick up!” 

“Mrs. Pines!” Ria's voice suddenly came in much more clearly. “Are you okay? I heard you got arrested or something! I was going to make dinosaur-shaped cookies.”

“Good coping skills but listen up. I need something from you. You know that vending machine in the gift shop?” 

“Ten seconds,” called an agent. 

Mabel talked faster. “I need you to guard it with your life. No matter what happens, no matter who talks to you, _don't let them touch that machine!_ ” 

“Times up.” 

The agents opened the door and Mabel immediately stepped back from the phone. It swung down and banged against the wall. The line went dead. 

“Let's go.” The agents each took an arm and they led her back. She went silently, but she was mapping out the police department as they went, noticing where they kept their equipment on their uniforms, feeling the give of the police cuffs. She had to think of a way out of this. And she had to think fast. 

 

Stan was sitting in the backseat of the stupid new-car-smell FBI jeep. He was scared, angry, and seriously annoyed, because the car had all these neat tricked-out gadgets like security cameras and a high-def TV and a mini-computer and a billion blinky buttons. It was the coolest car Stan had ever seen and he did not want to be excited about it when these were jerks who had his Grauntie! 

“We've got Ms. Pines in custody,” said Agent Mustache. He was on a sweet high-def TV screen hanging where the rearview mirror usually was. “Our men are searching the Shack for that device. You take care of those kids.” 

“What're you gonna do to us?” Stan demanded. 

Agent Chihuahua glanced at him. “We'll be taking you to child services.” 

“BOOOO!”

“In the meantime, enjoy some mindless TV, designed to pacify you and make you stop asking questions.”

Chihuahua pressed a button and the TV showed an episode of Ker-Prank'd, with Justin Ker-Prank. It was one of Stanley's favorite shows, but for once he couldn't concentrate on mindless television. He glanced at Ford. Ford was staring at the screen, but he was white as chalk and sweaty and he wasn't really watching. 

“Ford, this is crazy!” Stan whispered. “There's no way Mabel stole toxic waste, it's not like she could do arts and crafts with it! We gotta clear his name!” 

Ford nodded and looked around the car, then up at the security cameras. “That's it, the security tapes! Didn't Mabel say she was restocking the gift shop last night? If we could get the Mystery Shack's surveillance tapes, we could prove Grauntie Mabel's innocence!” 

“Perfect. We just need to think of a way out of here. I know!” He leaned back and prepared to smash his head against the window. 

“Wait wait!” Ford caught him. “It's probably bulletproof.” 

“Oh, right. Hey...” 

Li'l Bud's huge trailer was pulling up next to them, a sour-looking Gideon at the wheel. Stan banged on the glass to get his attention. When Gideon glared bloody murder at him, Stan breathed on the glass, then wrote, _We hired this lawyer to sue you!_

Next thing they knew Gideon had side-swiped them and the car skidded, spinning out of control. All three of them yelled as Chihuahua struggled with the wheel. Then the car smashed right into the wooden railing, careening down a slant until it smashed grill-first into an old dead tree. The dry wood snapped and it collapsed on the car, crushing its roof in a V-shape and shattering the windows with its branches. Stan forced Ford's head down to avoid getting impaled. 

“We're good, go go go!” Ford said. 

Stan unbuckled – the one and only time he was _glad_ he'd followed the law – and he and Ford slipped off the seats and popped the door open. Chihuahua was struggling to do the same, but a very convenient branch had lodged itself right through the wheel and pinned him in place. 

“Backup!” Chihuahua barked. “Requesting backup – hey!” 

Ford had reached in and grabbed his talking-thingie right out of his ear. He crushed it underfoot. 

“C'mon, Sixer,” Stan said, glaring at the agent. “Let's go clear our grauntie's name.” 

“Oh, you poor kids. You really think your grauntie's innocent?” the agent asked. “I've seen it all before. False names, double lives. One day they're playing with water balloons, the next they're playing with doomsday devices! Your aunt has scammed the whole world. You gonna let her scam you, too?” 

Stan hadn't stopped – but now he realized he only heard one set of footprints. Ford had turned around to look at the agent. 

“You...you don't know what you're talking about,” Ford said. 

He turned walking and Stan waited for him to catch up. 

“You're gonna regret this!” Chihuahua shouted. 

So Stan took out his slingshot, hit the dash, and made the airbag explode.

 

Mabel had been left to sit in the interrogation room, alone, with the lights off, which gave her a very bad feeling. She had expected them to try and interrogate her some more. If they weren't doing that, what were they doing? 

Did this mean they'd found the Portal?

She swallowed and checked her watch. 

“Only five more hours till it happens,” she muttered. “I've gotta be there! C'mon, Mabel, you gotta think of a way out of this. Think, THINK!” She slammed her head against the table, trying to make brain things happen. 

Her watch beeped. She glanced down to see it blinking, 'Anomaly in progress.'

A mug of coffee rise two inches off of the table in front of her. After a second of poltergeist-y floating, it fell back with a clunk, splashing coffee everywhere. _Guess Dipper was right about those gravity-whatevers. But the last one just made a few leaves float. Which means..._

“They're getting stronger. Of course, that's it!” 

 

Out on the street, several cars creaked and groaned as they lifted several feet into the air. Shop signs rattled on their hinges and pedestrians were suddenly treading air – and then everything came smashing back down. 

“Is it just me or did the entire world just hiccup?” Tanya asked, straightening her sunglasses. 

“I knew it, I knew it!” Valerie muttered, and scurried away. 

 

At the same time, a certain taped-up computer was sitting in a lean-to in the middle of the dump. Its screen read, _4:57:42 HRS UNTIL ACTIVATION._

Chu barely paying attention. Logs, canned food, wrenches, sarsaparilla, random twigs. She grabbed whatever she could and jammed it into a burlap sack. 

“It's happening! The end times! When that machine activates – I gotta get outta town!” 

“Scree?” 

Her raccoon wife poked its head out of the nearest trash pile. She grabbed its tail. 

“You, too! Get in there raccoon wife, get!” 

It squeaked and struggled but she jammed it into the sack and pulled the drawstring shut. She slung the whole thing on her back and ran for it, ducking as helicopters zoomed overhead. The end times – the machine – the eye – 

Had to get out! 

 

They waited in the bushes at the side of the road until another caravan of FBI cars drove by. A running leap and they were in the bed of a truck, pulling a canvas sheet down over them to keep them hidden. Ford's stomach hurt, but he tried to ignore it. 

The agent was a liar, that was all. Everyone knew the police were allowed to lie to you to make you confess, why shouldn't the same be true for federal agents? Plus he'd almost gotten Trigger killed a few weeks ago! It was probably just a revenge thing! Grauntie Mabel's scams just involved making a mockery of science – he bet she didn't even know enough actual science to make a baking soda volcano, let alone some kind of super weapon!

Stan tugged at him and they jumped from the truck just before it turned in to the Shack's parking lot. They hid in the shadows of the forest. The place was crawling with even more agents than before. Some of them were even jogging around in sync, although Ford was pretty sure that was just to show off, not to do anything actually functional. Although the two guys standing by the back door looked pretty serious, and there were a few more agents clustered around the front entrance, too. They'd have to get past them without being spotted or they'd be Special Agent toast. 

“Alright, here's the plan,” Ford said, but Stanley cut him off. 

“I'll take out those two guard guys, you karate-chop the other dude in the neck, and then we'll backflip through the front door!” 

“Stanley, aren't you forgetting the simpler solution?” He tapped Stan's shirt. 

“Oh, right.” 

Stan had hidden a grappling hook under his shirt (Ford never understood how he managed that, but he'd once shoplifted Ford a new edition of DD&MD, so he wasn't going to question it.) They climbed the nearest redwood, shot the grappling hook through a broken window, and then ziplined right into their own bedroom. Which _no one_ was going to take away from them. 

There was only one guy inside, and he was sneaking more icee-pops out of the cooler, so it was pretty easy to get past him and make it to Mabel's office. Ford shut the door and triple-locked it, then turned away to see Stan grinning at him. He grinned back and high-sixed. 

Then he looked around. “Alright. If I was Mabel, where would I hide those surveillance tapes?” 

“This place is even creepier in the dark,” Stan said, moving into the room. 

“Don't turn the lights on, we'll attract attention.” 

“It's broad daylight outside,” Stan pointed out, but he left the lights off. 

The room really was creepier in the dark, though. He never realized how many stuffed animal heads Mabel had, or how creepy their false eyelashes and lipstick looked in the dark. 

He started searching. Filing cabinets? Just craft supplies and her fishing hat. Bookshelf? Really dusty, not a secret trigger in sight. He was about to feel for loose floorboards when he heard Stanley gasp. 

“Hey! The antelabbit!” 

“Don't you mean 'jackalope'?” he corrected. 

“Pfft, _that_ can't be right.” 

Ford opened his mouth to argue when Stan hopped up on a chair to reach the stuffed head over Mabel's desk. He hit the jackalope's antler. 

There was a click, then the entire middle section of wall spun around, revealing a mini-security center complete with a live feed of the security cameras outside, a TV, VHS player, and a big box of stuff under the TV. 

Ford's face broke into a grin. 

“ _YES!_ ” they both shouted, and then slapped each other's hands over their mouths to keep quiet. 

“Look, the tape is already inside!” Ford said. The security tape from the Gift Ship for yesterday had been loaded into the player. He pushed it in. It was already set to 4:45 in the afternoon – and Stan, Ria, and Carla were in the middle of a wormy dance. 

He looked at Stan. 

“What, someone yelled 'Wormy Dance', we had to!”

“That someone was you, wasn't it?”

“Duh! C'mon, fast forward already.” 

Ford grabbed the remove and fast forwarded to 6:45. When the static cleared, the wormy dancers were gone and Mabel was standing behind the counter, stacking snowglobes in a heart pattern. 

“Ha! There it is! Mabel restocking, like she said!” He pointed. “And the date shows this was lsat night. It's proof, she's innocent!” 

“Great! So – uh-oh...”

“What?”

He looked back. Mabel wasn't stacking snow globes anymore. She looked around furtively, then snuck on tip-toes out of the Shack, even though there was no one in sight. He hit fast-forward, pausing every two hours. But the Gift Shop just got darker and darker as night fell. 

“Uh-oh.” 

“Maybe she just went out for that knitting club! Didn't Ria start a knitting club?”

“At midnight?”

“Maybe it's 'Knitters Gone Wild'?”

Finally, at 5 AM, the door to the Gift Shop opened again...and someone in a hazmat suit wheeled in a barrel of toxic waste. His stomach sank. 

“Oh, no, Mabel, you didn't...” 

“Don't panic,” Stan said quickly. “That could be anyone in that suit!” 

The person stubbed their toe on a barrel. 

“OW OH MY SWEET GLITTER KITTENS! That was the only toe that didn't ache in my horribly old, old age!” 

“It's her.” 

Ford sat down slowly. Stan was pacing frantically behind him, which felt even weirder, since that was normally what Ford would be doing. He stared numbly at the security equipment. Then his gaze caught on the box underneath the TV. He pulled it out...

“Okay, okay,” Stan was muttering. “So maybe she stole some toxic waste. That, uh, could just be for a paper-mache thing! Right? I mean that Sprott guy lives right next to a toxic dump! Or maybe she's just stealing it because environment stuff! She'd go for the whole saving-the-trees thing, right? That's all this is!” 

“I'm not so sure about that,” Ford said quietly. He moved the box to the desk and clicked on the little green lamp. 

The box was full of ID cards, passports, citations – all with different names on them, and all of much younger photographs of their grauntie. 

“'Chevronique Pineneedle'?” Stan said, reading one. 

“Martha Stewardess,” Ford said, reading another. “Ariel '8 Ball' Anderson. These are fake IDs, Stan. You wouldn't need these unless you were trying to hide your real identity.” 

“Well – maybe she was just gonna have us all be pirates! She knows we've almost got our ship fixed up, and a pirate's gotta have a cool name! Maybe she's got some in here for us!” He started digging around. 

Ford had just turned back to look at the passports when he felt more than heard his brother gasp. He looked over. 

Stan was holding an old piece of newspaper, his eyes huge and shell-shocked, his face a sickly green. He looked worse than when he'd stared the Gremloblin directly in the eye. 

“Stan? Stanley, what's wrong?” 

His brother handed him the paper. The headline read – 

“What? 'Pines is _dead'?!_ ”

“'Foul play suspected in Pines' death',” Stan said, staring straight ahead. It was like he was seeing the article stamped on the wall. “Fiery car crash...breaks cut...”

“By who?!” he demanded. He dug around in the newspaper stack. “Move over, there has to be something in here, somebody with a grudge, some kind of –”

He pulled out another clipping and unfolded it. It showed Mabel in a tie-dyed T-shirt in unwashed hair, trying to hide her face from the camera, under a caption that read 'Unnamed Thief at Large'. 

“Unnamed? Why would they call her unnamed? Unless Mabel...” He caught Stan's eye. 

“Isn't...”

“ _Mabel?_ ” they said together. 

Ford looked up. Mabel's life-size cardboard cutout loomed over them, lit a garish green in the dim lamplight. 

 

Stan lost track of time, especially with the dark and all, but it felt like they'd been in there for hours. 

He was sitting on the ground and Ford was doing his usual pacing thing. They'd laid out everything from the boxes on the floor, like one giant conspiracy board, minus the red string. Mabel's face looked up at him from drivers' licenses, security IDs, passports, newspaper clippings – not to mention actual legal currency, not even the fake kind, from three different countries. The photos were all from when she was really young, and the paper looked really old. But the weirdest part was that there was no glitter at all, on anything. It was like the person they knew now was...was someone completely different than the people in these photos. 

“'Pines is Dead',” Ford kept repeating. “Then who've we been living with? Our Pa said Mabel was our only other living relative. Did – did whoever this is, did she kill everyone else off? Is this some kind of conspiracy? Were we just gullible enough to buy into it?” 

“No,” Stan said automatically. “There has to be some explanation. Mabel's – if she wanted to hurt us, she'd have done it by now. She's not going to hurt us. It's gotta be some kind of massive prank, that's all!”

“This isn't Kerprank'd, Stan!” Ford stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can't believe it. This whole summer I've been looking for answers, and the biggest mystery was right under our noses!” 

“There's gotta be some kind of explanation in here somewhere!” Stan grabbed the box and started shaking it. He knew it was empty, but maybe they missed – 

A tiny slip of paper fluttered out and he grabbed it. 

“What the...'Secret Code to Hideout'?”

“Lemme see that.” 

Stan held it up. Ford crouched down, took out his blacklight and his journal, and compared the code. But what Stan was holding looked way different than anything in the journal. It was just a 2-by-4 grid of squares, with letters on the left and numbers on the right, and not even all the squares were filled in. Something about it looked weirdly familiar. 

“A-1...B...C3... I've never seen a code like this,” Ford muttered – and then it clicked. 

“Wait, I have! Sixer, it's the vending machine!” 

 

_00:13:09._

Mabel was seriously starting to sweat. They'd left her sitting there for hours, cuffed to the chair. It wasn't bolted down, so she'd waddled around checking every exit, but the door was locked tight and there were bars on the windows. They had to come for her eventually, right? She had to get out, she couldn't miss – 

The door opened. Powers walked in, flanked by the usual background agents. 

“Alright, Pines, playtime is over. Chopper's ready to dust off to Washington.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I'll enjoy putting you away.” 

_Washington?!_

“Uh, can't we stick around for one minute?” she said quickly, glancing at her watch. “Uh, one minute thirty seconds?” 

“We're not falling for your games, Pines.” He walked behind her, taking out a keyring. Was he going to uncuff her to get her into the helicopter? Was that safety procedure or something? But that wouldn't mean anything if she was surrounded by armed agents!

“Bathroom break?” she said desperately. “Just give me – fifteen seconds! I'm old, we have bladders the size of peas!” 

“Sorry, but you've got a flight to catch.” 

She felt the key slot into the cuffs and held her breath. If it timed juuuuust right...

_Beepbeep, beepbeep!_

She grinned. “So do you.” 

“Huh?” 

All four of them lifted into the air, like they were suddenly in a zero-G funhouse. Instantly Mabel kicked the table, flipping it, and then kicked it one more time at the background flunkies. The impact sent her spinning crazily, along with everything else – mugs, balls of floating coffee, stabby little pencils. Powers was yelling and she heard screams and car honks outside. 

Her momentum sent her crashing chair-first into Powers. He grunted and then floated off, stunned, leaving his key ring dangling in the air. 

She somersaulted, crushed the chair against the wall so it broke apart, then launched at the keyring in a second somersault. She caught it and landed on the ceiling. In less than a second she'd freed herself and jumped straight for the open door. 

“HEY!” Powers shouted. “Dang it, get back here! Men, get her!” 

“Sorry, hunkie!” she said cheerfully, and promptly stepped on the first guy's face. The second guy had seen her jump off the ceiling and tried to do the same thing, but she just grabbed his shoulder and swung him into the first guy (and pick pocketed his wallet on the way). Powers had tried to lunge, too, but now there were two guys zooming straight towards him to slow him down. His momentum still had the three agents floating toward the door, but Mabel was several feet ahead. She air-swam through it, slammed it behind her, and locked them in with the same key she'd used on the cuffs. Powers' face hit the glass with a satisfying thunk. 

_Beepbeep, beepbeep!_

Gravity switched back on and Mabel landed neat as a cat on the floor, while the agents collapsed in a heap on the other side. The coffee mug fell right on Powers' head and he yelped. 

“Sayonara, suckers!” she shouted. She ran for the front door, dodging Johnson and Velasquez (who were still playing with their pinata). 

The street was in chaos. People shouting, signs, mailboxes, birds, and cars upside down willy-nilly all over the street. Miraculously, though, a taxi cab was miraculously sitting right outside. She dashed up to it.

“Do you know where the Mystery Shack is?” she panted. 

The guy looked her up and down. “Yeah.”

“Good! Here's a hundred bucks” – she handed him the agent's cash – “drive as far away from the Shack as possible, and _don't stop when the cops start chasing you!_ ” 

He took it, shrugged, then peeled rubber. Mabel had a feeling the last agent had stiffed him on the tip. 

Mabel darted behind the nearest car. She heard the station doors crash open and Powers yelling. “She's getting away, FOLLOW THAT CAB!” 

She crawled quickly to the other side of the car, keeping out of sight as the agents hurried to their vehicles and hit the gas. She heard the static of a talkie-walkie and the drone of a helicopter – two helicopters – all three. Good. As soon as the coast was clear, she sprinted for the woods. 

 

Ria passed a lot of federal-y black jeeps on her way to the Shack, but they were going the other way and she didn't stop. When she reached the parking lot, she tried to fish-tail for a cool effect, but just kinda made a weird S-shape. She made a mental note to ask Stan or Mabel to teach her how to fish-tail. 

At least she knew she could crawl through a window. That would definitely be cooler than walking in the front door. 

She slipped in, tip-toed over the rug, and then stopped directly in front of the vending machine. She now had candy at her back and the Mystery Shack merchandise before her. She was in her element. 

“Okay, Stage 1 complete,” she murmured. “Stage 2: Protect machine, earn Mrs. Pines' trust, legally get adopted by Mrs. Pines, change name to Mabel Junior. Should I break that into two more stages?”

“Ria!” 

Her head snapped up. Ford and Stan came running out of the living room! 

“Kids! What're you doing here?” 

“We live here and we're not going home,” Stan said sharply. “What're you doing here?”

“Mabel gave me a mission to protect this machine.” She chuckled. “And I thought I loved snacks!”

Ford frowned. “Ria, listen. Something huge is going on here. If Mabel's hiding some dangerous secret, we need to find out what it is.” He went right up to her and looked her squarely in the eye. “I need you to step aside.”

“Yeah,” Stan added. “Just step aside so we can prove our Grauntie's actually secretly a spy and we're about to find a secret passage loaded with juicy prank-worthy tech! ...And possibly break her out of jail with it. Day's still young.”

Ria grimaced. “Guys, I know this seems crazy, and playing spy does sound cool. But I promised I'd guard this with my life.”

They glanced at each other. Then Stan stepped forward. 

“Sorry, Ria,” he said, and then before she could react he blew a handful of Mabel's glitter right at her face. 

She screamed and scrubbed at her eyes. “AGH! Attack glitter! It's pretty but it hurts!”

“LEARNED FROM THE BEST!”

She felt the two of them rush her and reached out blindly, right arm connecting solidly with Stan's middle and her left hand grabbing the back of Ford's coat. Stan immediately began crawling around on her like she was a human jungle gym, and Ford struggled to squirm out of his jacket. She rapidly blinked the glitter from her eyes. 

“C'mon, por favor, I don't want to fight you! This hurts me more than it hurts you!”

Stan kicked her in the chin, grabbed her belly fat and twisted. She yelped. 

“Yep! Hurts me way more than it hurts you!”

“Got it!” Ford shouted, and she turned just in time to see him finish punching a code into the vending machine. 

She had just enough time to think, _That code won't get him any snacks_ , when the entire vending machine practically exploded off the wall and slammed her in the back. The three of them went sprawling, banging chins, knees, and elbows. 

“Are you guys okay?” she asked immediately. Luckily she hadn't landed squarely on top of them or she'd have given “stancakes” a whole new meaning. 

But both twins ignored her, identical expressions of shock on their faces. She glanced over her shoulder. 

The vending machine had not exploded. It had swung forward on hinges. And behind it, where the wall should've been, was a secret passage with a staircase leading deep into the earth. 

Ford swallowed. “What...is that?” 

They looked at each other. Without a word, they climbed to their feet. Ria reached for the lantern on a shelf above the cash register. She lit it. Then, with both twins following close behind, she led them slowly down. 

The staircase looked like it had been built along with the rest of the shack. It had the same wooden stairs, the same wood coming up waist-high on the walls. But the wood was cracked, and so was the paint on the walls and ceiling. Only a single, naked bulb hung from a wire on the ceiling. The air was cool, dry, metallic. They passed a chalky handprint on their left and Ria shivered. 

“It's like something from a video game.”

“Or a horror movie,” Stan said. 

“Or a nightmare.”

Ria glanced uneasily at Ford, her stomach flip-flopping like she'd eaten spoiled nachos. He was staring down at stains on the steps. Stains that looked very much like dried blood.

What exactly had Ms. Pines been doing?

 

Mabel raced through the woods as fast as her arthritic knees could carry her, panting hard, armpits damp with sweat. She'd stayed off the path to avoid government-y cars, and so far her luck was holding. She glanced at her watch: 00:05:43. 

“I gotta be there when it happens,” she gasped. A branch sliced right through her sleeve and cut her arm. She yelped but didn't slow down. 

_Please, please, just let me get there in time!_

 

An elevator waited silently at the bottom of the stairs. It was old, the kind Ford had only read about, with a metal gate for a front. The three of them stepped inside. Ria held the lantern up as they went down, but all they could see beyond the gate was dark, roughly cut earth. Ford reached automatically into his jacket and gripped the journal. Whatever this was...whatever was coming...he needed to be ready. 

The elevator reached the bottom floor and the gate opened. They stepped out and gasped. 

It was a lab. A rectangular room with supercomputers lining the walls, studded with glowing buttons, their screens showing numerical readouts and electronic heartbeat lines. Thick black power cords ran lengthwise down the room to a desk, which faced a huge window cut into the opposite wall. Beyond the wall was a much massive cavern with an equally massive machine that filled the cavern's back wall...and it was shaped exactly like an equilateral triangle, a glowing circle set precisely in its center. Ford swayed in place, his palms suddenly clammy. Nausea churned in his gut. Was she working with Cipher? Had he been played for a fool again? Had she even cared about them at all, or were they just little pawns dancing to the merest whim?

“We're dreaming,” Stan said tonelessly, staring around. “We're dreaming, right? Somebody wake me up.”

Ford walked forward. If she really was working with Cipher, he had to know. He had to. 

Ria followed them in, hovering close. “I don't understand. Why would Ms. Pines have all this?”

“Because – because she really _is_ a spy!” Stan said, reaching the desk. He spun around, arms wide. “I mean, isn't that why she'd have a huge, gigantic lab? It explains everything! She's a top-secret agent working for the government!”

“Then why would the government have come to arrest her?” Ford asked. 

“Uh, she's part of the shadow government, duh!” Stan grabbed something off the desk and held it up. It was a picture of the two of them from the time they went fishing. It felt like years and years ago. “It's still Mabel,” Stan said firmly. She loves us. The worst thing she's ever done is tried to kill us with sentient turnip fudge, but that was an accident. She loves us! And we love her. Right?”

Ford opened his mouth to answer – and then caught sight of the rest of the desk. He pushed Stan aside. There were two objects sitting on the surface of the desk, both bound in navy leather, reinforced with bronze, a very familiar symbol on the cover. 

“It can't be – it's impossible – the _other two journals!?_ ”

“What?” Ria and Stan said at once. 

He gritted his teeth. “I don't believe this! All this time, _all this time_ Mabel had them? Was anything she said to us real?! _WHY WOULD SHE HAVE THOSE JOURNALS?!_ ”

“Maybe she's the author?” Ria asked meekly. 

Ford whirled around. “Or maybe she _stole_ them from the author. Maybe she's working with someone dangerous, maybe she's been working with them for years, maybe the reason she has all those fake IDs was to help her build this machine and carry out some twisted master plan!”

He glared through the window. The triangular death device on the other side looked exactly like Bill Cipher – huge, balanced on a single, knife-sharp point, a massive glowing hole in the middle exactly like Bill's eye. Rainbow colors swirled chaotically at the edges of the glow, garish, nauseating. He could practically hear the demon's laughter. He pulled his own journal out. 

“What're you doing?” Stan asked, his voice thin and shaky, but Ford ignored him. He knew he'd seen it in Journal 3, that one page that looked like some kind of advanced super weapon. And if Journal 3 had only a piece of the blueprints, then he was betting the other journals had the rest. 

He was right. He opened all three journals to the right page and pulled them together like puzzle pieces, but it just showed a drawing of the machine. Then Ford took out his blacklight. 

They gasped. The pages were lit up with green writing. 

“'I was wrong the whole time,'” Ford read aloud. The humming in the ground seemed to crescendo as he spoke. “'The machine was meant to create knowledge, but it is too possible. The device, if fully operational, could tear our universe apart!'”

The last page showed the earth itself, split cleanly in half.

Stan leaned back, made a motion like he could push the image away. “But – I mean –”

“'It must not fall into the wrong hands,'” Ford read loudly, gut twisting. “'If the clock ever reaches zero, our universe is DOOMED!”

“Look!” Ria gasped. 

His head snapped up. Above the window was a digital clock with numbers lit in red: _00:01:29._

“It's the final countdown!” Ria almost screamed. “ _Just like they always sung about!_ ” 

“The agents were right, we have to shut it down!” Ford flipped madly through the journals until he came to a page titled 'Manual Override Fail Safe' and immediately memorized the instructions. “There, find three keys, we have to turn them all at once!”

“Found 'em!” Stan pointed straight through the glass – there was another super computer on the other side, to the left of the window. The three of them sprinted through the doorway and into the cavern. 

Immediately the three of them slowed to a stop, Ford raising an arm in self-defense. The very air vibrated with power like a physical force, like a sound beyond his hearing, a scream of insanity only barely held at bay. Two pillars of pale blue light on either side of the machine trembled, their light wavering as if passing through a million universes he couldn't even see. 

Stan grabbed his arm and shook it. “Ford, focus!” 

“I – there, quick!”

They rushed to the Manual Override counter set into the wall. The keys were already in their slots. 

“Turn these, together!” 

They turned. A buzz sounded loudly overhead and Ford looked back in time to catch sight of a lever set into the ground, right in front of the machine. The top of the lever was as round as a ball, and as the buzzer sounded, the top half of the ball popped open. A red button glowed underneath. 

“That's it, the shut-down switch!”

He sprinted for it, the other two close behind. He raised a hand as he skidded to a stop. This close to the portal, the air crackled on his skin like they were inside a thundercloud, and the metal in his skull was almost vibrating with energy. Like Bill Cipher was trying to rip it off, get into his brain. 

He snarled, gritted his teeth, raised his hand. 

“This all – stops – _now!_ ” 

“DON'T TOUCH THAT BUTTON!” 

They turned. Grauntie Mabel stood in the doorway, face flushed, breathing hard, her usually impeccable suit torn and dirtied. Wisps of silver hair had escaped from her bun and plastered to her cheeks. Her eyes were sunken and desperate. 

Ford hadn't even realized he'd frozen until he felt Stan grip the sleeve of his jacket. He set his jaw and readied himself. 

Mabel saw it in his eyes. “Ford, wait, _wait_.”

Ford shifted his gaze to the button, then back. 

She held up her hands and approached slowly. “Please don't touch that button. Ya gotta trust me.”

“And I should trust you _why?_ ” he spat. “After you stole radioactive waste? After you lied to us all summer? I don't even know who you are!” 

“Look, I know this all seems nuts, but I need that machine to stay on!” She was only feet away now. “If you just let me explain –”

_Beepbeep, beepbeep!_

His gaze snapped to her wristwatch and her face turned white. 

“Oh no – brace yourselves!” 

Ford opened his mouth and the next thing he knew he was screaming as the four of them floated towards the ceiling. The blue pillars of light snapped with million-volt lightning and the hole in the machine suddenly flashed, its nuclear rainbow now opening onto a galaxy of stars. Ford pinwheeled wildly. Bill – the inscription – _earth becomes sky_ – she'd really been working with Bill this whole time!

 

Chaos reigned beyond the Shack. Cars, roofs, houses, people, everything that wasn't bolted down and a lot of things that were tore from the earth, drawn up into the sucking reddish sky. 

Leather Vest and his girlfriend grabbed hands and he hooked an ankle onto the top of a telephone pole, and she grabbed at Lazy Susan, who grabbed the tail of the cat she'd been walking and hung on even when it scratched her. 

Soos, who had been inside his backyard fortress, gave a shout as all his rubber ducks suddenly lifted into the air. He clung to the turrets and waved at them. 

“Have a safe migration! You will always have a home here!”

Crazy Chu shrieked and gripped the grass with her bare toes as frog, mice, voles, and gnomes zoomed up into the sky. She clung to her raccoon-filled sack and twisted to face the lake, horror growing in her eyes. The lake itself was slowly rising into the air. 

Agent Powers immediately attempted to use Agent Trigger as a shield, but their car was already lifting into the ground and this time there was no physical entity to fight against. He had the sneaking suspicion that they'd been chasing the wrong car. 

And that, given all the heavy objects rising into the air, there would be a lot of casualties when it all came crashing down. 

 

“ _T-minus 35 seconds_ ,” the computer announced. 

Ford barely heard it. He'd reached the ceiling, bounced off, and finally managed to grab a wooden support beam that had broken loose with all the shaking. 

“SIXER!” 

He whipped around, still clinging tightly to the beam. Stan had managed to get his foot hooked around a cord and was floating three feet above the switch. 

“Stanley! Hurry! Shut it down!”

“NO!” Mabel hit the wall and launched herself straight at Stan, swimming frantically through the air. 

His brother nodded and grabbed at the cord, climbing down it until he could reach the switch. He leaped over to it, wrapped his legs around it to stabilize himself, and lifted his fist. 

“Stanley Stanley wait! STOP!”

“HYAH!” 

Ria slammed full-body into their great-aunt, which, even without gravity, looked incredibly painful. Mabel grunted with the impact and struggled to get free, but Ria hung on like the world's biggest koala.

“Ria, what're you doing?! I gave you an order!”

“Sorry Ms. Pines, if that is your real name, but I have a new mission now! Protecting these kids!”

“Ria please just let me go!”

Ford snarled and pushed off the beam, hard, hitting Mabel right in the chin with his skull. He could hear the force of the impact vibrate down his spine and she shoved him away, but he grabbed onto her sleeve and fought, kicking and punching everything he could reach. 

“Stanley!” he shouted. “Stanley, press the red button!”

Mabel shoved his head down. “NO YA CAN'T, YA GOTTA TRUST ME!” 

“Grauntie Mabel...I don't even know...if you're my grauntie.”

The three of them stopped fighting. Stan was still clinging to the shut-down switch, ducking like he was trying to hide, but the teardrops rose into the air like miniature diamonds, catching the light. Ford stared. He'd never seen Stan cry like that. 

“I want to believe you won't hurt us, but...”

“I wouldn't! Just listen! Remember this morning when I said I wanted to tell you guys something?”

“ _T-minus 15 seconds._ ” 

Ford looked up just as the machine flashed with light and power. Ford, Mabel, and Ria were flung back against the wall, Ford nearly cracking his skull on the rough rock. Mabel hit a set of steel pipes so hard he could hear her bones creak, and Ria hit a set of computer panels stomach-first, cushioning her landing. 

“Sixer!”

“I'm fine!” Ford gasped. “Hurry, the button –”

But just as Stan raised his fist, Mabel looked up and caught his brother's eye. “Stanley, wait. I wanted to say that you're gonna hear some bad things about me. And some of them are true. But trust me, everything I've worked, everything I care about – it's all for this family!”

“She's been lying to us!” Ford shouted. “This thing could destroy the universe! Stanley, don't be a knucklehead and listen to me!”

“Look into my eyes, Stanley! Do you really think I'm a bad guy?”

“She's lying! SHUT IT DOWN, NOW!”

“Stanley, please!”

“ _Ten, nine..._ ”

Stan hesitated. Behind him the portal pulsed madly, the blue lights finally stabilizing into cages of lighting. Stan looked at Ford. Then at Mabel. 

“Grauntie Mabel...”

“ _Seven, six..._ ”

Stan let go of the lever, rising into air, his arms floating loosely around his head. Ford's breath froze in his lungs. 

“...I trust you.”

“STANLEY ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Ford screamed. 

“ _Three, two..._ ”

“STANLEY! _DO SOMETHING! STANLEY –_ ”

Blinding light poured out of the eye, so brilliant it was a physical force. Ford stretched out his hands, uselessly, yelling. He could hear the conwoman yelling, and Ria, and his brother. And then the light bleached all the color, all the sound, all the gravity from the world...

 

Ford crashed back to earth, the ground thudding as the broken lab all but collapsed around him. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. His ears rang and his vision blurred, but the lab was definitely in shambles, and Stanley was sitting up carefully just a few feet away, wincing and rubbing his head in the same spot. By the sound of it, Ria was fine and, apparently, so was the conwoman. 

Slowly, Ford looked up at the machine, dread boiling in the pit of his stomach. It had been half-destroyed, leaning heavily to one side, the top left corner ripped clean away. A few irregularly spaced symbols flickered around the eye, its glow already beginning to fade. But a shape was emerging out of it, a pale shadow growing bigger and darker all the time. 

“Stan,” Ford tried to croak, but his mouth was too dry. 

Cold fingers dragged down his spine as he watched the figure pass through the light and into their world. The hooded shape was dark but humanoid, something strapped to its back, a cloak flapping in the ionized air. It stepped slowly towards them. It reached Journal 3, thrown to the ground in the chaos, and knelt down almost reverently, placing one hand on its cover. The figure picked it up carefully, opened his jacket and slipped it inside. The gesture was eerily like Ford's own habits.

Stan appeared beside him and grabbed Ford's arm, lifting him shakily to his feet. Ria rolled over and struggled to her feet. Ford unconsciously leaned toward her, slightly behind his brother. The figure paused, just a few feet away, backlit in the dying light. 

“Who...is that?” he whispered. 

“The author of the journals,” Mabel said, sitting up. 

The figure pulled back its hood. The hair was almost exactly like Ford and Stan's, but colored silver, but other than that it was almost like looking at some alternate version of Mabel, right down to the orange nose and rugged jawline. 

Ford's stomach jolted. Wait, author? _The_ author?! Looked like Mabel? Did that – did that mean he was...

“My brother.”

Ford's jaw dropped.

Stan actually raised his hand. “Is this the part where one of us faints?”

“I am so on it,” Ria said, and immediately keeled over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grauntie Mabel has a rugged jawline and anyone who says otherwise can fight me
> 
> Short for this will be up tomorrow! Next month, in honor of Lost Legends, I'll be posting a Lost Short instead of an episode. Yes, I know that puts off Season 4, but you know how I love to ~~make you suffer~~ build anticipation!!
> 
> Which means June will officially kick off Season 4 and the updates should speed up because SUMMER IS COMING PEOPLE!! *gets buried in homework*
> 
> See ya tomorrow for the short!


	22. Not What She Seems Short

The lake was fell. 

Jewel had been checking the boats when the gravity reversed. She'd thought at first they were all coming unmoored, until her long black hair started rising around her face and her feet left the ground. She'd screamed and managed to catch hold of a pine tree's branches on the way up, just before the tree itself came uprooted from the earth. She'd felt a shadow at her back and turned to look. 

The boats, the fish, the lake itself was rising steadily into the sky. She could see flashes of silvery fish through the murky bottom, the silhouettes of the boats, and strange, dark shadows that moved in the layers of the water, massive, bigger than houses, and utterly silent. The sky had turned red, and its light filtered through the water, casting everything in colors of blood. Jewel had swallowed and tried to steady herself. She was in a tree, and the lake was just floating next to her. She was sure she could survive the fall, if everything suddenly dropped back to earth. 

Then there was an incredible crack as another tree ripped out of its roots and knocked into Jewel's tree, hurling her under the body of the lake. 

And gravity returned. 

She didn't have time to scream. The water hit her and there was no up or down, just being beaten and raked and dragged madly in all directions. The tree had been ripped in her fingers. She flailed desperately, trying to get her bearings, but something huge and hard slammed against her side. Dirt-churned water gushed into her mouth, her throat, her lungs. Her stomach convulsed and she twisted, trying to draw her limbs in for protection, but she was coughing and spinning and her chest was on fire and she had to get air or she would die – 

_THWAM!_

Something hard and sharp hit her in the back, then again, snapping her neck back. She hit something flat and hard and kept spinning – 

_THWAM!_

It hit her again into the flat surface and the force of it made her cough, small rocks flying from her throat, through the air. 

Wait – _air!_

The water dragged her down again but this time she braced herself, and when the something hit her again she waited until she felt her body break the surface and then forced herself to spread out as much as she could, even as she coughed so hard black spots popped and sparked behind her eyes. 

A voice cut over the churning water, thin and reedy. She tried to turn her head. 

“Jewel! JEWEL!”

_Mother?_

A tree – maybe the same one she'd clung to earlier – shot through the water and clipped her sharply on the top of her skull, forcing her head to the side. She felt herself grunt but she couldn't draw enough air for anything else, even to scream for help. Her body was relaxing, unconsciousness slipping over her with the silky promise of death. 

“Mother!” she tried to scream, but water filled her mouth. 

Panic seized her. The extra adrenaline was just enough to let her lift an arm, even as the rest of her dipped down into the water. A shape was swimming toward her in the murky depths, impossibly fast. It looked like some kind of person sitting on a skinny submarine, but the submarine had two eyes that glowed like ghosts. Long fangs flashed in the gloom. 

She was already sinking. There was no more time, no more air to call for help. The thing opened its long jaws just as her mind sunk into the swallowing black.

 

It took a while for her to notice she was alive. Mostly she noticed this because her chest hurt. Worse than when she was little and she'd catapulted off her bike into a waist-high chainlink fence. It felt someone had stuck a knife in her diaphragm and then whacked her on the sternum with a hammer for good measure. She tried to move her left arm and check herself, but pain flared so badly she gave a screamy gasp and tears streamed from her eyes. 

“Daughter!” 

A face appeared in the gloom, wrinkled, worried, familiar. Jewel struggled to speak to it – if she didn't, it would vanish all over again. 

“Hhh...”

“Don't move, mah little Jewel. Wake yerself up nice and slow.”

The effort had taken the last of her energy. She fell silent, eyelids drooping. Her mother touched her hair feather-light and then was gone. 

_Wait, wait, come back..._

Jewel blinked slowly, trying to force herself awake. Wherever they were, it was dark, and she was staring up at the distant roof of rock. Metallic scraping and bustling sounds echoed strangely. It sounded like they were in a massive cave, although the echoes might have been due to the pain in her head. She wasn't sure there was any place left on her that didn't ache, sting, pound, or stab. 

The sounds were coming from somewhere on her left. Carefully, and very, very slowly, Jewel turned her head. Even that slight motion made her excruciatingly aware of every throb of her skull, the bruised tissue around her eyes. But she managed it. 

There was a massive pile of branches and, for some reason, power tools against the side of the cave, like the nest of a giant robot bird. Her mother was crouched between Jewel and the nest. She'd taken three long screwdrivers, skewered fish with them, and was slowly turning them over a small, stone-rimmed fire. 

Jewel swallowed. “Ma...”

“Ah'm here.” Her mother was in front of her so fast Jewel wasn't sure she'd blacked out. Something cold and hard was pressed against her lips. “Drink a little, if you can. You were coughing up sand earlier.”

She wished her mother hadn't mentioned that, because now that she noticed it, her throat really hurt. She drank. Just a few sips, and then her mother took the cup or can or whatever it was away. 

“Wha,” Jewel managed. It was surprisingly difficult to form sentences. 

“Ah saw the lake rising on my way out of town. Ah needed to make sure you were okay.”

Jewel gave a soundless chuckle. She was hardly what anyone would call 'ok'.

Her mother grimaced. “Well. We'll let you wake up a little more, then we'll getcha to a hospital. They might not let me in after the time with the gator, but Ah'm sure they'll be able to fix ya up proper. Don't worry 'bout the money. Young man named Fiddleferd helped me sell a coupla patents on the internet.”

Jewel stared. Something about her mother was...different. Her hat, maybe? She hadn't seen her without it for years. It must have gotten knocked loose during the gravity whatever-it-was. Her clothes, then? No, they looked filthy. Filthier than usual, actually, although that could be explained by her mother jumping into the churned-up lake to save her. 

No, it was her eyes. Her mother's eyes looked bright and alert in a way Jewel hadn't seen since she was a very little girl. 

“Mother,” she croaked. 

“Just rest a bit. We're on Scuttlebutt Island. Getting back'll be tricky, but Ah checked you over and you're not 'bout to up and kick the bucket from your injuries, but Ah ain't keen on movin' ya until ya can stay awake for a bit on yer own. Ah'll stay right here with ya.”

It wasn't just her eyes. It was her mother said, the way she moved. Everything spoke of her mother being more present than Jewel had seen in decades. And – and her mother was present for _her_. She'd stopped expecting that several heartbreaks ago. Who knew all it took was a simple, terrifying near-death experience? Jewel would've laughed if her chest didn't hurt so much. As it was she closed her eyes before the tears could leak out. 

_Ma, you're back. You're back._

Her mother touched her hair, soft as kitten breath. “There yah go, darlin', but try not ta fall asleep just yet. I'll bet mah last weldin' torch ya got a bad concussion. Not ta mention you'll need ta hold on to the Gobblewonker when it swims us back ta shore.”

It took a few minutes for the information to full enter in Jewel's brain. Then her eyes snapped open. 

“Gob-wha...?”

“Gobblewonker! Five stories tall, wrinkly skin, long neck like a gee-raff?”

“Gob – you – it was _real?_ ”

“Eh? Oh, not that one!” Her mother waved dismissively. “That one was just a robot Ah made. But it was based on the real thing. Speak of the 'wonker – there ya are, Gerty!”

There was a splashing sound and then a huge shape rose in front of her, higher and higher, its long neck arched to fit inside the massive cave, muddy kelp dripping from its fringelike gills, eyes glowing blank and ruthless. It opened its mouth and roared. 

The sound split Jewel's skull like a jackhammer and she screamed, flailing weakly. 

“Now y'all stop that!” her mother scolded, standing up and glaring at each of them in turn. “Gerty, Ah 'ppreciate the help, but no more sassin' or Ah won't gitcha anymore sardines in mustard sauce. And _you_ , young lady, are ta be respectful to the lake monster what helps ya!”

Jewel gaped at her. Above her the monster grumbled under its breath. 

Her mother nodded. “That's more like it. Now, Jewel, Ah'll give ya a few more minutes to rest up. Then we'll see what food we can get in ya – it's been over twelve hours, ya might be low on yer blood sugar – and then we'll strap ya to Gerty and off we go.”

The monster chuffed irritably and her mother smiled. 

“Yes, you get a fish too, ya great lump. Dip down and have a bite.”

The site of her mother daintily feeding a lake monster, whose fangs were at least as long as her arm, was equally the most endearing and mind-bending thing Jewel had ever seen. She kept watching until they were done and then her mother reached for the next skewered fish. 

“Alright, sweetheart – your turn!”

Jewel gave up and opened her mouth. Well, her mother was back, after a fashion. And she was actually caring for Jewel, instead of spouting gibberish or trying to scratch all the yellow paint off the Bait Shop walls. She hadn't seen her mother this alert or attentive or _there_ in such a long, long time. 

So if her mom would always be a little weird...well, she could certainly learn to like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TADA!!! Something less bitter, more sweet to wrap up Season 3!!
> 
> I will be posting the Lost Legends chapter on May 3rd as a separate work, but still part of the Relativity Falls series, so keep an eye out for it! After that it's FULL SPEED AHEAD FOR SEASON 4!!
> 
> REDWOOD, AWAY!!!


End file.
